


Cerulean

by sunniskies



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, But mostly fluff lbr, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fiesty Vegan Steve, Fluff, Grief (about a non-major character), Hipster Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunniskies/pseuds/sunniskies
Summary: Steve Rogers has been teaching art to veterans for two years. He loves his job, nothing can change that. Not even Bucky Barnes, the new student who irks Steve in all the wrong ways. He's late to class, never talks, and has an annoyingly perfect jawline. But all Steve has to do is make it through a few weeks teaching Bucky how to draw and he can forget about him. Right? 
Or, Steve and Bucky fall in love somewhere between acrylic paint and vegan lattes.





	1. Chapter 1

Steve is neither a morning person nor someone who enjoys Mondays, but this Monday morning is different. When his phone alarm starts blaring at 7 am, he only hits snooze once, which is basically a record. After minimal groaning, he rolls out of bed and shuffles over to the windows, drawing the curtains. It’s a typical Seattle morning that’s complete with gray skies and a light drizzle falling steadily.

He flicks the on button on his stereo on the way to the bathroom, breaking into a little shimmy as the sounds of The Chainsmokers fills his room. His hypoallergenic mini poodle Cookie eyes him curiously from her pillow as he dances his way across the room. _Why are you so happy?_ she seems to ask him with her wide hazel eyes.

“Because it’s Day One, Cookie!” Steve yells over the music, shaking his non-existent hips exaggeratedly. “I get a new batch of students today and that warrants celebration.” One of the benefits of living alone is that no one is there to judge him for talking to his dog or flailing around his room uncoordinatedly. Or the fact that his chest is heaving by the end of his dance break and he has to take two puffs on his inhaler. But he’s _happy_ , dammit, and not even his asthma can bring him down today.

He eventually showers, brushes his teeth, and downs the handful of multicolor pills that constitute his daily medications. New class day definitely means he should wear his favorite outfit, Steve decides, and so he pulls on a well-loved pair of black skinnies and red checkered flannel that somehow manages not to drown him. He slips on a pair of black Vans, and checks out his reflection in the mirror. He’s ridiculously pale and his arms and legs always tend to look like sticks, but he’s come to love the vibrant blue of his eyes and the way half of his honey blonde hair swoops loosely across his forehead, the other half shaved in an undercut. He rolls up the sleeves of the flannel so the half sleeve of floral tattoos on his right forearm is visible. His friends always call him a hipster but he will deny that label until the day he dies. He gives himself a wry smile in the mirror. “If only you could see me now, Ma,” he murmurs, chest tightening. “Sure have changed, haven’t I?”

He swallows thickly and closes his eyes briefly. “I love you,” he whispers. “And I’ll never stop missing you.” Just as the sadness begins to roll through him like a rising tide, there’s a soft brush against his legs and he looks down to see Cookie staring up at him. He crouches down and scratches behind her ears, letting the heavy emotion drift away. After all, he’s got a class to teach.

++

The art studio at the VA is small and they’re constantly lacking supplies, but Steve loves it anyway. There are enough easels for 10 students and the whitewashed walls are cut by huge windows that give a perfect view of the garden outside. Steve had a lot of trepidation when he graduated with a fine arts degree from NYU, wondering if he really was going to end up living in a box like everyone joked about. But in a series of twists and turns, here he ended up at 26, getting to do art all day and help veterans recover. There are some things Steve wishes were different in his life, but his job certainly isn’t one of them.

Steve hums tunelessly as he arranges the classroom for his new students, placing a wide sketchpad on each of the easels and opening the blinds so the room fills with bright gray morning light. He perches on the desk at the front of the studio when he finishes setting up, surveying the room. Today is definitely a good day.

By 8:50 students have started trickling in. Most are men, but a few women take seats as well. They’re of all ages, some looking as young as 20, others clearly into the 50s. Steve gives a friendly smile to each veteran as they walk in, still sitting on top of the desk at the front of the room.

Nine of the ten seats are filled by 9:00, so Steve jumps down from the desk and claps his hands together. The room quiets immediately.

“Welcome to Beginning Art for Veterans,” he smiles at the classroom, and gets a few tentative smiles back. “My name’s Steve and I’ll be working with you guys for the next several weeks. I’m really glad you’re here and I think that you will be too. This is a low-stress introduction to drawing and painting, and I really want this to be a class where you feel like you can grow as an artist and also as a person. For those of you who are here for therapy hours, this class does count as ‘therapeutic arts’ and I’m happy to sign forms for you, just come find me after class is over.

“Now, just to get a few things out of the way,” he says, hopping back up to sit on the desk. “Yes, I am old enough to teach this class, no, I’m not sixteen.” That earns him a few murmured laughs through the room. “Please call me Steve, I don’t want to hear any ‘sirs’ in here. I’m partially deaf in one ear, so if I don’t turn around when you call me, it’s not because I don’t like you, I promise.” A few more chuckles break the silence. “I’m really happy all of you are here on time, art requires concentration and I find latecomers to be disruptive to everyone’s artistic flow—”

Just as he’s about to finish the thought, the door to the studio opens with a ridiculously loud creak and a man shuffles inside, long dark hair obscuring his face. The man turns to obviously try to close the door quietly, but it just gives another obnoxious squeak. Steve glares silently at the man until he looks up, sheepishly tucking his chestnut hair behind his ear.

“Uh, sorry I’m late,” the man says, glancing around the room. “Is the teacher not here yet?”

Steve’s blood boils. He jumps off the desk and marches over to him, clearing his throat loudly. “No, he’s right here,” he says coldly, putting his hands on his hips. He _knows_ this guy probably didn’t mean anything, but he absolutely hates it when people confuse him for a student because he’s small. He’s been defending himself his whole life and he’s not going to stop now.

The man looks down at him with surprise. He’s got bluish gray eyes that are somewhat stunning, and a rough array of stubble coursing a chiseled jaw. But Steve doesn’t care how gorgeous this guy is, he’s angry and not afraid to show it.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” the guy says. “I thought you were...you’re just…” Steve silently glares harder at him until the man flushes and stops talking. “Just, sorry.”

“Please take a seat,” Steve replies curtly. The man, still pink, sheepishly clambers into the last seat.

“Now where was I?” Steve starts. “Oh yeah, latecomers.”

++

By the time Steve finishes his introductory speech and everyone in the class has introduced themselves, his anger at the stranger (“Bucky” apparently, what kind of name is that?) has mostly abated. He’s too excited to begin the first exercise to really hold onto his grudge, although he doubts Bucky will be at top of his list of favorite students anytime soon.

“So we’re going to start with exploration,” Steve says from his desk perch. “I have up here an assortment of tools—pencils, pastels, paints, etcetera—and colors. All I want you to do today is try out some different mediums and explore how they feel. You can draw or paint whatever you want, whatever feels good and easy. For a lot of beginners that’ll just be lines and scribbles and I want you to know that’s perfectly fine. Today I just have one goal for you: suspend that voice in your head that says you can’t do art. If there’s one thing that will get in the way of your work, it’s that voice. So today we’re not listening to it, and just doing it what feels good. Okay, let’s start!” He claps his hands together and the students begin making their way up front to get tools.

Steve circles around the studio as everyone works. Everyone’s making a variety of abstract shapes on their papers, some drawing long sweeping lines across the page, others sticking to corners of the page and keeping their doodles small. Steve finds something encouraging to say to each of them, even if it’s just a simple “nice color choice”, or “I like how expressive your lines are.” He firmly believes supportive encouragement is the foundation for any beginning artist, when usually people are so used to criticizing their work instead.

When he reaches Bucky’s station, Steve considers just ignoring him or making some smart-ass comment. But, sigh, his Ma didn’t raise him to be petty. Steve likes to think he’s _somewhat_ more mature than the fifteen-year-old kid who ended up at the nurse’s office every lunch period because he had to show the school bully that Steve Rogers was not afraid of a few punches.

The annoying thing is, Bucky’s work is kind of amazing. He’s chosen to forgo using any colors, instead he’s created a design out of black pen, paint, and pastel. It’s a lotus flower, with a myriad of intricate lines inside the petals. The line goes from thick at the edges to delicate at the center, and there’s a kind of movement to the work that Steve so often strives for in his own art.

Bucky glances up at him questioningly and Steve jolts and realizes he’s been standing there staring at Bucky’s page for an awkwardly long amount of time. Steve feels his face heat up.

“Uh, are you sure you’re in the right class?” Steve asks, still staring at the page.

Bucky frowns. “This is Beginning Art for Veterans, right?”

“Yeah, no, sorry that’s not what I meant. That’s really good, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Bucky runs a hand over the back of his neck. An awkward silence hangs in the air.

“But that’s not a bad thing! There’s still a lot you can learn, about composition and perspective and using colors, all that,” Steve rushes.

“Sure,” Bucky nods slowly. “ ‘S why I’m here”

“Right! Obviously,” Steve laughs nervously, a little too loud. A couple of nearby students look over.

“Right,” Bucky nods.

“Right-o” Steve answers. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Right,” he repeats. “I’m going to go, uh, over there.”

Steve scurries off, attempting to hide his burning face. _Oh my god, what the hell just happened_ , he groans internally. That was possibly the most awkward conversation Steve has had in the history of ever. Well it’s not his fault Bucky seems to like to speak in monosyllabic sentences. Or the fact that Bucky’s eyes are breathtaking when you look at them all up close like that, or that his hair falls to his shoulders in thick waves that would be amazing to sketch.

Steve has a strict no-crush policy on his students and he has no intention of breaking it now. No, he’s flustered by Bucky for purely artistic reasons, he decides. He has a very symmetrical face and Steve would like to draw it, that’s all.

And then Steve remembers he just un-ironically said “Right-o” and almost groans all over again. He’s going to have nightmares about this.

++

Aside from his awkward run-in with Bucky, Steve’s first class goes smoothly. Everyone seems to enjoy experimenting with the different materials and by the end of class the students have multicolor arrays of abstract designs splashed across their pages. A few veterans shake his hand and say thank you on their way out, which warms Steve’s heart every time. After finishing signing a few therapy forms, Steve waves goodbye to the last student and settles back on his hands on top of the desk.

“I love my job,” he says into the silence, grinning like an idiot. “I really love my job.”

“Well aren’t you Mr. Cheerful today,” says a voice and Steve jolts so hard he nearly topples off the desk.

“Jesus, Sam,” Steve complains to the grinning man standing in his doorway, pressing a hand to his chest. “You do know you’re not supposed to scare people with heart conditions, right?”

“Aw poor Stevie,” Sam coos exaggeratedly, striding over and ruffling his hair. “I’d be worried, if I didn’t already know that you only use your health as an excuse when you’re being a little shit.”

Steve glares at him, because yeah, accurate. “I could have died,” he says dramatically. “And you wouldn’t be invited to the funeral.”

“Well considering the food would probably be some vegan nonsense, I’m not too disappointed,” Sam chuckles.

Steve punches his unfairly defined bicep. “You’re terrible friend.”

“And yet you still keep me around for some reason,” Sam smiles and hops up next to him on the desk. “No seriously, how’d the first class go buddy?”

It’s Steve’s turn to break out into a grin. “Awesome, actually. I think my students have a lot of potential. And there’s only one I don’t like.”

“Uh oh,” Sam says. “What’d he do, call you short?”

“No, in fact,” Steve glares. “Well, he thought I was a student.”

Sam breaks into raucous laughter, bending over. “Oh man that’s great,” he chokes out. “Bet he walked right past you, didn’t he? You gotta admit man, that’s kinda hilarious.”

“As I mentioned earlier, you are a terrible friend.”

Sam pulls him in for a one armed hug. “I only tease you because I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbles, but hugs him back anyway. “I hope you’re nicer to your patients than me. Good group this morning?”

“Yeah, some of them are still getting used to the whole group therapy idea,” Sam says, thoughtful. “But we got into some good stuff.”

Steve nods. In his opinion, Sam is the best therapist at the VA. He’s heard several of his art students talk about Sam’s groups and how much they’ve learned there. For as much as Sam likes to tease Steve, Sam is an amazing listener and always projects this aura of warmth around him. Steve’s usually slow to make new friends but he and Sam had become almost instant buddies when Steve joined the VA staff. He’s definitely Steve’s best friend, along with Natasha, the physical therapist who works on the third floor.

“So Nat and I were thinking that drinks are in order for tonight,” Sam interjects.

“Drinks on a Monday?” Steve questions. “Is that a thing?”

“Now it is! C’mon man, it’s not like you’ll be drinking anyway.”

“True,” Steve concedes. Sadly, part of being 5 foot 4 and roughly 100 pounds is that Steve has the tolerance of a thirteen year old girl. “Alright I’m in.”

“Sweet,” Sam claps him on the back. “I’ve got another group starting in a few minutes. But pick you up at 7?”

“You really don’t have to pick me up, I can take the—“ Steve starts but Sam cuts him off.

“Save it Steve, I’ve resigned myself to driving around your hipster car-less ass for the rest of eternity,” Sam grins and heads toward the door.

“I’ll buy you a drink!” Steve calls to him and Sam just shakes his head amusedly and waves.

Steve smiles and begins cleaning up the room, putting away the art supplies and packing up his faux-leather messenger bag. It’s mostly just full of his own art supplies that he carries with him everywhere—an array of graphite pencils and a well-loved sketchbook. He has a couple of free hours until his next shift starts, when he visits the inpatient units and does art therapy with the hospitalized patients. Some months ago he discovered a little coffee shop that sits cattycorner to the VA, so Steve usually goes there during his free time and relaxes with some coffee and his sketchbook. Watching other people do art all day always makes his fingers itch to create his own.

He finishes cleaning up the studio and completes the short walk over to the coffee shop, La Vida Mocha. As usual, there are only a few patrons in the small but cozy shop, most of them typing away on laptops or absorbed in books. Steve orders his usual almond milk no-whip caramel macchiato and settles down at a table in the corner. Soft indie music is playing over the speakers somehow the chairs are always ridiculously comfortable here. He curls his legs up into the chair underneath him and pulls out his sketchbook and pencils, flipping through the pages until he reaches a blank one. Idly he twirls a pencil between his thin fingers as he glances around the shop, looking for something to sketch.

He decides on the girl sitting at the table across from him, a student, judging by the pile of textbooks on her tabletop, with long curly black hair and red oversized glasses perched on her nose. She’s got a tattoo of a bird just under her left ear and a thick scarf wrapped artfully around her neck. Steve spends the next hour lost in capturing the slope of her nose and the tight spiral of her curls. People are absolutely his favorite thing to draw, because there’s just so much that’s unique about each person and the way they carry themselves. His sketchbook is packed full of drawings of random strangers he’s seen on the bus, at La Vida Mocha, out walking Cookie. He never tires of this, the quieting of his mind as all he focuses on is lines and shading. It’s the time he feels most relaxed all day.

He doesn’t even realize how much time has passed until his phone alarm sounds to remind him he has to go back to work. He’s long since finished the sketch of the girl and has switched to drawing some of the warm, cushy interior of the shop. He’s not sad to go back to work, however, he loves visiting the inpatient units and is usually able to cheer up the patients a bit with the art. He gathers his things and heads back out in the chilly weather to the VA.

++

By the end of his workday, Steve is exhausted but happy. He got to do art therapy with a total of 7 hospitalized veterans, visiting each of their rooms and helping them create whatever they were able. It’s rewarding but being on his feet and walking around all afternoon takes its toll on him, especially with the multiple flights of stairs he had to climb. His under-performing lungs definitely do not like stairs.

He sinks into his comfiest armchair after an uneventful bus ride home, toeing off his Vans tiredly. Cookie, tail wagging furiously, jumps up into his lap and starts licking his face.

“Hi, sweetie,” he murmurs, scratching her ears. “What do you think the chances are I can get out of drinks tonight, hmm, girl?”

Cookie peers up at him silently, her tail still wagging in his lap. “Yeah, I don’t think so either,” he sighs with resign. He grabs the remote and flips on the cooking channel.

At some point he must doze off, because he jerks awake to the sound of Sam knocking at his door. “Steeevie” he sing songs through the door, “Get your butt up outta that arm chair, you’re 26 not 100.”

Steve grumbles but gets up anyway and opens the door. “What if we just stay in?” he whines. “I have...um, some vegan chili. And orange juice. Could be fun times,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam just shakes his head and laughs. “Not gonna cut it tonight, man. Natasha’s grumpy and demanding alcohol.”

“Natasha’s always grumpy and demanding alcohol,” Steve points out.

“Exactly, so we need to go out,” Sam answers. “Look, are you comin’ or am I going to have to carry you?”

“I’m heavier than you think,” Steve says, even though he knows Sam could carry him quite easily. “Fine, let me just find my keys.”

“That’s my boy!” Sam grins, leaning against the doorway while Steve digs around in the table near the door. “We’ll have you set up in a nice comfy booth with a ginger ale in no time.”

“Might do Sprite tonight, you know, live on the edge,” Steve retorts.

“Ooh, Steve’s getting wild tonight!” Sam laughs. “Hey don’t forget a jacket, it’s kinda nippy out.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Steve rolls his eyes but grabs a fleece off the arm of couch anyway.

“Hey, I don’t want to be over here watching you hack your lungs out again out for a while, can you blame a guy?”

“I’m not getting sick this winter. I’ve decided,” Steve says firmly, locking the door as they head out.

Sam guffaws again. “Tell me how that one goes, buddy. I’ve already got my cans of soup waiting.”

“Challenge accepted. Hey, Nat,” he says as he slides in the backseat of Sam’s car and Sam starts the engine.

Natasha, looking flawless as always with her fiery red hair artfully waved and green eyes delicately lined with black winged eyeliner, turns around in the passenger seat. “I need a drink, Stevie,” she says by way of greeting. “Men are ridiculous and I don’t know why I bother with them.”

Sam and Steve both make vague noises of offense and Natasha waves them off. “No, not you two. That _guy_ , who I am much too busy to waste time on, is bothering me,” she says darkly. Before Steve got to know Natasha well, he always was slightly afraid she was going to murder someone. Now he knows she’s actually one of the most caring and loyal people he’s ever met, once she decided to let it show.

“Well, as this group’s token bisexual, I can confirm that men and women are equally difficult to date,” Steve says. “That’s why I just don’t date.”

“So you can spend more time at home with your poodle and vegan soup,” Sam deadpans from the driver’s seat, pulling the car into the parking lot of their favorite dive bar.

“Chili, Sam, there’s a difference,” Steve huffs.

“All I know is I ain’t eatin’ it.”

“Did I offer you any?”

“Boys,” Natasha interrupts. “The vodka is calling. Let’s continue this scintillating discussion inside.”

The three of them crowd into their favorite booth at the back of the bar. Natasha orders a vodka shot, Sam an IPA and Steve a root beer (both Natasha and Sam obnoxiously calling out “Yolo!” when he orders).

“So back to my problems,” Natasha says, twirling around her empty shot glass on the table. Steve knows she’ll probably have two more shots and not even be slightly tipsy by the end of the night. “Clint is ridiculous.”

“Well, we all knew that,” Sam snorts. “The man tried to ask you out by pretending to be cupid and nearly shooting you with an arrow.”

“And he doesn’t know what quinoa is,” Steve adds. Sam and Natasha roll their eyes at him.

“Yes, well, he is from Nebraska. He’s a simple man,” Natasha defends. “That’s not the problem. The problem is that he wants to see me, like, every day.”

Sam and Steve raise their eyebrows at each other. “Why exactly is that a problem, Nat?” Steve asks.

“Because! He wants to know how I’m _feeling_ all the time. And is too nice. I don’t trust him.”

Sam folds his hands on the table and frowns at her slightly. “Ah,” is all he answers.

“Don’t give me that therapy face, Wilson. I’m not one of your patients,” Natasha glares at him.

“But we are your friends,” Steve says, squeezing Natasha’s hand. “He’s a nurse, he’s supposed to be nice. And it’s ok to let your guard down once in while, Nat. You know we love it when you get all emotional on us.”

“It’s what I get for being friend with a therapist and an artist,” Natasha sighs, putting her head down on the table. “I hate feelings.”

“You only hate them because you’re afraid of them. Because you can’t control them like you do everything else,” Sam postulates.

“Why does everything you say have to make so much sense?” Natasha groans loudly, lifting her head back up.

“Because I’m damn good at what I do,” Sam grins. “Also ‘cause I’ve got that wise-black-man thing going on. I’m essentially Morgan Freeman.”

They all laugh at that, and Sam orders Natasha another shot. “So how was the first day, Stevie?” she asks.

“Great! All my students are awesome. Well, except one of them. This one guy bugs me.”

“He thought Steve was a student,” Sam interjects helpfully and Natasha cracks up.

“A classic way to get on Steve’s bad side,” Natasha grins.

“Well it’s not just that!” Steve protests, because he’s not petty, dammit. “He’s also got this hair, and these eyes, and it just _bugs_ me ok?”

Natasha and Sam exchange coded looks.

“Interesting,” Sam says cryptically, and now Steve’s pretty sure Sam’s using the therapy face on him.

“Very interesting,” agrees Natasha.

“Ugh you two are the worst,” Steve complains. “It’s not like I have a crush on him or something, he’s just, like, distracting. And he doesn’t talk.”

“And would it be so terrible if you did like this man?” Natasha questions lightly.

“Yes. No. I mean, I just don’t think about my students that way. You guys know that. I just, you know, want to draw him. Get it out of my system.”

“I seem to remember the last person you ‘wanted to draw’ you also ‘wanted to press you up against a brick wall and devour you’” Sam shoots him a skeptical look.

“I was drunk when I said that,” Steve scowls. “Besides, that guy looked like Chris Hemsworth.”

“Just sayin’ ” Sam sips at his beer.

Natasha downs her second shot. “You want to be horizontal with this guy, Steve,” she decides.

“No I don’t! I just find him to be distracting to my class. I will deal with it, with no help from you two,” Steve says firmly. “I’m an adult.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asks with mock curiosity. “Because you kinda look like this sixteen-year-old kid I know…”

Steve throws a wad of napkins at his head while Natasha and him dissolve in a fit of giggles. “You are both awful,” he sighs.

“And you love us anyway,” Natasha gives him a kiss on the cheek. “As do we love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbles but he can’t keep the smile from creeping up his face.

Because yeah, they tease him too much and they’re both rabid carnivores, but Natasha held him tight that whole night he couldn’t stop crying over his mother, and Sam will sit on the couch with him for hours watching documentaries when his asthma’s so bad he can’t go outside. They’re his family and he wouldn’t trade them for the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos, comments, and subscribed! It means a lot. I plan to update twice a week on Tuesdays and Fridays. Hope you enjoy this chapter :) 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr if you like, and there is a rebloggable photoset [here. ](http://notwithouttyou.tumblr.com/post/154178511188/notwithouttyousteve-rogers-has-been-teaching-art) Much love!! xo

By the time the next Monday rolls around, Steve’s anxious to see his students again. He’s already got a whole host of lessons planned for the class and he can’t wait to get started on them.

He gets to the VA studio early and goes about his usual ritual of straightening the classroom. He brought his iPod with him today so that he could set a nice ambiance in the room. He spent last night staying up late on his laptop creating the perfect playlist for today’s session. He hooks up his iPod to the speakers and fiddles with the control until he finds the perfect volume.

“Norah Jones, huh? Must be contour drawing day,” interrupts Sam’s voice, and Steve looks up to see him leaning against the doorframe lazily.

“You know me too well,” Steve admits, walking over and giving Sam a quick hug. “I just want everyone to feel relaxed—”

“—And one with their art. I’ve got your number, man,” Sam grins.

“We definitely spend too much time around each other,” Steve shakes his head.

“Nonsense! Coworkers always know too much about each other. Just call me your work husband.”

Steve snorts out a laugh. “Does that mean I have to wine and dine you?”

“No, but you do have to come to Nat’s _Lord of the Rings_ marathon on Friday,” Sam says.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Since when does Nat like _Lord of the Rings_?”

“ _She_  doesn’t. Clint does.”

“Ah.”

“Apparently Clint’s insisting she watches them all since she’s never seen them, and she wants us there for moral support,” Sam explains.

“You do realize I’m probably going to fall asleep 10 minutes into the first movie, right?” Steve sighs.

“Yeah but that kettle corn stuff you always bring is the bomb. So you have your uses.”

“Good to know you guys value me for my kettle corn,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“That and your sarcastic wit,” Sam claps him on the back. “Gotta go therapize. But you’ll be there Friday?”

“I’m bringing a hoard of blankets so I can fall asleep, but yes I’ll be there,” Steve answers.

“Wohoo! I convinced Steve to leave the house twice in two weeks. I’m setting a new record,” Sam laughs and punches the air with mock enthusiasm.

“I do leave the house to go to work every day, you know,” Steve points out.

Sam just shakes his head. “Doesn’t count, man. Alright good luck with the art!” Sam jogs off down the hallway with a degree of ease that Steve definitely envies.

By 9:00 every single veteran is in their seats patiently waiting for Steve to start talking. Except for one. The one. Steve feels his annoyance start to simmer but he decides to be gracious and waits a few minutes to see if Bucky will show up.

9:05 ticks past and there’s no sign of his missing student so he stands up and smiles at the room. “Good morning everyone! I hope you guys had a good week. I’m really glad you all decided to come back. Has anyone done any art in their free time last week?”

A few tentative hands raise in the air. “That’s great!” Steve encourages. “The more you practice doing art, the more comfortable you’ll become and the more you’ll enjoy it. But definitely no pressure. The only place you’re expected to create art is in this room. Now today we’re going to explore a concept called contour drawing. Contour drawing is one the foundations of any good drawing practice, and--”

And just as he’s getting on roll, there comes that obnoxious creaking of the studio door being eased open slowly. Steve closes his eyes and tries to count to three. _Keep your cool Steven_ , he tells himself.

In through the door slips—who else—Bucky, in jeans and a black hoodie, with his hair swept up in a high messy bun. The arms of his hoodie are almost obscenely tight over his biceps, the lines of his muscles rippling as he moves. He doesn’t look at Steve or acknowledge him as he enters, just stalks over to his seat silently.

Steve’s blood has come to a roiling boil. How dare Mr. Tall, Dark, and Silent show up late to his class without so much as an apology or a fucking wave hello. Who does that? Is Bucky so goddam disappointed he got stuck with the Steve as a teacher that he can’t even stand to look at him? This guy is pushing way too many of Steve’s buttons and Steve’s this close to taking a swing at that obnoxiously defined jawline. He spent all of his childhood being ignored on the playground and he has no intention of letting it happen again.

He clears his throat loudly until Bucky finally looks up. “Hello,” Steve grits out, trying his best to emulate a friendly voice. “Welcome. We were just talking about contour drawing.” _Who said he never took the high road?_

Bucky stares at him for a moment and then nods, still saying nothing. His expression belies nothing besides a vague disinterest. Even as Steve’s anger still simmers, he can’t shake the thought that he really could draw Bucky’s face for hours. His gaze is so piercing and his face is guarded, almost mysterious.

Steve forces himself to turn away from Bucky and takes a deep breath. “Alright, so contour drawing. Like I was saying, this is a foundational skill. Essentially what we’re doing when we contour draw is recording the edges and lines of an object. Drawing the contour of an object is the base for creating an accurate representation of that object. So I have several things up here,” he gestures to the desk, where he’s got a mismatched spread of objects laid out. “I’d like you to start with cutting off a piece of wire from this roll and twisting it into a shape—any shape. And then draw it, slowly and with concentration, recording every bend and curve.

“After you finish with the wire then you can draw anything else up here. I’ll be walking around to help you all out. Any questions? Great, let’s start!”

Steve adjusts the volume of the music while everyone gathers their supplies. Soon, the studio is quiet except for the sounds of Nora Jones’ soft crooning as the veterans concentrate on their drawings. He gives everyone a few minutes to get started before he starts making rounds through the classroom.

He stops first at the easel of one of his older students, a vet named Kenny who always wears a worn Army baseball cap. Steve crouches down (even though with his stature it’s not really necessary). Kenny’s got his tongue bit between his teeth as he draws the curve of a twisted piece of wire.

“I’m not sure I’m getting it right,” Kenny says, glancing at Steve. “Mine seems flat.”

“You’re doing great,” Steve encourages. “Today’s not so much about the 3-D effect, it’s just about following the line. Try not to judge your work, just let it be.”

Kenny nods and shifts is concentration back to the wire. Steve stops next by a young female veteran’s easel, a blonde recently returned from a tour in Iraq. “Beautiful lines, Chloe,” he says, crouching down again and peering at her sketchpad. “I like that you are really trying to get those creases inside the leaf, not just the outline.”

“Thanks,” she beams. “I couldn’t even draw a stick figure before so it feels crazy to be doing this.”

It’s always comments like that that make Steve feel all his effort actually makes a difference. He smiles gently back at her. “Everyone can draw, it just takes practice. Keep going, you’re doing fantastic.”

Steve continues weaving his way through the stations and tries to give helpful feedback to each student. Bucky’s station is the last one he comes to, and he pauses behind Bucky’s back, taking in his drawings.

His artwork is stunning. Not for its accuracy, because there is still traces of the wobbly, distorted look that signifies a beginner’s drawing. But his use of line is bold and unapologetic. Although some of the dimensions are slightly off, all of the objects he’s drawn and so solid and _real_  looking that once again Steve wonders if he’s truly a beginner.

Steve bites his lip. Bucky’s work is amazing but Steve’s still insulted by his general caviler attitude toward Steve and his class. Steve moves past Bucky’s station without comment and returns to his perch up front. Bucky glances up as he passes but doesn’t say anything.

By the time class ends, all of the students have filled their sketchbooks with multiple pages of contour drawings. Steve gets several thank you’s as everyone shuffles out and even a firm pat on the back from Kenny.

He cleans up quickly and pulls his scarf tightly against his neck as he steps out into the frigid mid-morning air. It’s only October but it’s getting cold quickly this year. Luckily Seattle has spared him any rain today though, and he quickly makes his way over to La Vida Mocha.

The shop is unusually crowded this morning, a quick glance around tells him there’s only one free table. Well, as long as he has somewhere he can sketch and get properly caffeinated, he doesn’t mind. He orders and then makes his way over to the free table, blowing on hands because they’re still icy from the chill outside.

It’s not until he settles into his seat and pulls out his sketchbook does he notice the person at the table to his immediate right. It’s a small shop so the tables are all pushed close together, and _of course_  he is sat next to none other than the bane of his existence. 

Bucky’s got his head buried in some book and doesn’t seem to realize he and Steve are practically sharing a table. Steve glances around the shop helplessly. There’s not even a free spot on the couch, and it’s freezing outside so he’s not going back out there. Besides, this is _his_  territory. He’s been coming here for the better part of a year, how dare Bucky show up and make him feel uncomfortable here. No, this is Steve’s shop and he’s not going to let some guy who’s probably no older than him scare him away.

Bucky seems to feel someone looking at him and glances up sharply. He catches Steve’s eye and Steve feels himself go red immediately. This is so awkward. What does he do? He’s pretty sure the guy despises him but it seems weird to not say anything. He is going to be Steve’s class for multiple weeks after all.

“Hello,” Steve says stiffly. “Uh, how’s it going?”

“Fine,” Bucky answers gruffly. An uncomfortable silence falls.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed class today,” Steve says after a beat. He shifts his eyes down to his sketchbook, because, hey, he can take a hint. This guy obviously does not want to talk to him.

He’s just about to start on a sketch of Sam’s face from memory when Bucky interrupts. “Listen, sorry about being late,” Bucky says slowly. He rubs a hand over back of his neck, and looks away from Steve. “I have trouble. With leaving the house, and stuff. People.”

And, _oh_. Steve suddenly feels like the world’s biggest asshole. Here he is, hating some guy for being late, when in reality he’s probably grappling with some pretty serious post-service trauma. Steve is always quick to judge people, it’s one of his enduring traits for better or worse, but maybe Bucky’s silent treatment hadn’t been meant as an affront to Steve at all. Maybe Steve jumped to all the wrong conclusions. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Steve catches Bucky’s eye and musters up the most sincere voice he can manage. “It’s okay. Really.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I thought I heard you say something like ‘I will set fire to anyone who comes late.’ ”

Steve chokes on a sip of his macchiato. “What?! I never said that!” he splutters.

“Relax,” Bucky says, and a small smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just messing with you. I’d prefer to avoid the pity party, if you know what I mean.”

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes instantly. “I wasn’t trying to…I just meant that I’m sorry if I was a bit, well, rude.”

Bucky shrugs. “My anxiety tends to come off as hostility. ‘S my fault too.”

Steve nods, understanding. He’s not sure what to say, he feels thrown off balance. It’s a huge 180, going from being enraged Bucky to having an actual civil conversation with him.

“I’m gonna get my act together and be on time though,” Bucky promises. “Maybe this’ll help.” He gestures to his book discarded on the table. Steve cranes his head to read the title, _The Cognitive Processes of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder_.

“Oh god,” Steve groans. “Your doctor must be Dr. Wells. He loves to make all his patients read that book. I’ve heard the horror stories.”

Bucky laughs at that, and Steve’s does an unexpected little swoop. “It’s possibly the most boring book I’ve ever read,” Bucky affirms. “And I’ve read _War and Peace_.”

“Well I wish you the best of luck,” Steve says. “I can promise you that art therapy requires zero reading.”

“Thank God for that,” Bucky sighs.

“I’m gonna sketch a little before I have to go back,” Steve gestures to his sketchbook.

Bucky nods. “I’m going to keep working on reading this monstrosity.”

They both fall into silence but it’s not as awkward as before. In not too long, Steve is too caught up in his sketch of the barista to pay attention to Bucky next to him. When his alarm rings and he finally looks up, Bucky is gone.

++

Natasha texts him about a thousand times throughout the week reminding Steve of her movie night and how if he misses it she’ll personally kill him. She sends a few emojis of skulls just to reiterate her point.

Steve knows better than to cross Natasha (it does not lead to good things), so on Friday night he shows up at the door to her apartment juggling a giant bowl of kettle corn and his favorite fleece blanket.

The door opens and Sam greets him with a wide smile. “The hipster is here!” he announces to the apartment and Steve tries to glare at him but Sam pulls him into a tight embrace. 

Steve steps into Natasha’s apartment, looking around. It’s been a while since he’s been over, but he always likes coming here. Her apartment is sparse since Natasha is not one for clutter, but it still emanates a warm, friendly feeling. Plus, she’s got the biggest TV out of the three of them, so her house is a given for any movie-night.

“Stevie!” Natasha exclaims as he shucks his shoes by the door. “You actually showed up.”

“Well I was afraid what you’d do to me if I didn’t,” Steve retorts.

“Wise man,” affirms says another voice, and Clint rounds the corner. He reaches his fist out to bump with Steve’s. “Good to see you again.”

“Same,” answers Steve. He’s met Clint a couple times before but they aren’t really close friends. He’s heard enough about him through Natasha, though. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh y’know, working the nine to five, watering my plants, being forced into spontaneous skydiving trips,” he grins and jerks his thumb toward Natasha.

Natasha just shrugs. “What? It was fun.”

“She made us go paintballing once,” Sam chimes in. “Poor Stevie here couldn’t move for a week.”

“It wasn’t _that_  bad,” Steve objects. “Just a few bruises.”

“Steve, it looked like you had finally tattooed your whole body,” Sam says.

“ANYway,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Kettle corn anyone?”

Clint makes a beeline for the bowl. “Hell yes I want kettle corn, are you joking?”

Natasha leads him all into the living room, where two large sofas sit. Steve sinks gratefully into one of the comfortable cushions. Sam sits next to him while Natasha curls up in the corner and Clint plops down next to her, still toting the bowl of popcorn.

They all start to talk animatedly. It’s funny seeing Clint and Natasha together like this, Steve thinks. He’s never really seen Natasha express affection openly to anyone besides him and Sam, but here she is cuddling up to Clint on the sofa while he absentmindedly runs his fingers through her hair. She even blushes a few times when Clint says something cute, which is definitely new. Steve is glad that she looks so happy, because Natasha definitely deserves it.

He can’t push down that small part of him that wishes he had that too. The easy, soft way they talk to each other. The teasing, the gentle touches, the play fighting. It’s all adorable and Steve misses it. It’s been years, not since college really, that he’s been with anyone. Even then, his most significant relationship had been with a guy he met in his figure drawing class, who decided after a year of being together that he wasn’t gay and wanted nothing to do with Steve. After that heartbreaking experience, and his mother’s death, Steve just kind of lost the drive to date. He keeps hoping the right person will come along spontaneously but he also knows in his heart that that’s not how the real world works.

“Yo, you still with us man?” Sam elbows him curiously. “You look like you’re trying to figure out quantum physics or something.”

“Nah, just wondering how I got stuck with you lot for friends,” Steve jokes, trying to deflect the attention.

Natasha fixes him with one of her I-can-see-through-your-soul stares, frowning. “Have you talked to that guy from your class yet?” she asks.

 _Dammit Natasha._  “Actually, yeah,” Steve says truthfully. “Ran into him at La Vida Mocha.”

“And?” Sam demands. Even Clint looks vaguely interested.

“And he’s nice. Lots of artistic talent. The end,” Steve answers.

Everyone groans. “Steve,” Natasha says. “At this rate, you are going to going to die a 30 year old virgin.”

“Who said I’m a virgin?!” Steve exclaims, affronted. “And why am I dying at 30?”

Natasha waves a hand. “Figure of speech.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, trying to look as threatening as possible. “Listen guys, I appreciate that you want me to get back out there but I’m not interested in this guy. And I would appreciate it if we drop the subject.”

“Nattie just wants you to be happy,” Clint says earnestly and Natasha immediately turns beet red. Sam whips his head around to Steve with the same shocked-amused look that he’s pretty sure is on his own face.

“Did—did he just call you ‘ _Nattie?_ ’” Sam asks Natasha, barely holding back laughter.

“Shut. Up.” Natasha glowers.

“Aww it’s okay Nattie, don’t worry,” Steve cooes in an exaggerated sing-song voice.

“Yeah, we’re just going to call you Nattie from now until eternity,” Sam assures.

Natasha, still bright red, turns to Clint with a glare and points a finger at him. “This is your fault. You swore to me…”

Clint looks like a cross between amused and apologetic. He holds his hands up in surrender. “It just slipped out, sorry.”

“Nattie, you’re never going to live this down,” Steve grins devilishly.

“Afraid not, Nattie,” Sam agrees.

Natasha sighs deeply in resign and picks up the remote. “I’m guessing the only way to get you two to stop is to start the movie.”

“Oh that won’t stop us,” Sam warns. “Nothing will.”

“There is no talking during _Lord of the Rings,_ ” Clint announces. “From hence on we are going to sit and enjoy the cinematic masterpieces in front of us.”

They all laugh but settle in into the couch anyway, Steve burrowing into his blanket cozily. Clint passes around the bowl of popcorn and soon the room is silent save for the sounds of Middle Earth and crunching.

Steve’s asleep before Frodo even gets the ring.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve may have a slight obsession with Bucky's hair. And his eyes. And, like, his general existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all my continued readers and welcome to any new ones! As a reminder, this fic updates on Tuesdays and Fridays. Thanks so much for the kudos, comments, and subscriptions! xoxo

The following Monday, Steve can sense that an easy camaraderie has formed between his students. The veterans all give Steve a friendly good morning as they trickle in, and talk and joke with each other quietly as they sit by their easels waiting for class to begin. It makes Steve happy to see everyone bonding with each other. He knows that a big part of what makes this class therapeutic is not just the art itself, but also the opportunity the veterans have to socialize and find support. Many of them are struggling to make connections in the world that is so different than being in service, and Steve’s had several of his past students tell him that his class was the first place they were able to make friends after leaving the service.

Steve’s no stranger to difficulty making friends. As a skinny, sick kid, he spent a lot of his childhood playing alone at school or at home. His Ma tried to be there for him, of course, some of his favorite memories of her are the evenings they spent building cardhouses together on the coffee table and laughing. But she also had to work long hours to pay their bills and sometimes Steve had longed so deeply for just one good friend, for a playmate of his own. In all honesty, Sam and Natasha are the best friends he’s ever had, and he didn’t meet them until he was 24.

Steve shakes himself out of his reverie when he notices that it’s time to start class. He stands, straightening his sweater. He knows when Sam sees him he’s going to tease him about looking emo today. Steve’s wearing an ensemble of all black—t-shirt, cardigan, and jeans, complete with combat boots and a checkered infinity scarf draped loosely around his neck. But his style, however emo or hipster it may be, is one of the ways he expresses himself and he loves that he finally feels confident enough to be able to do that.

“Hello everyone,” he smiles to the class. All the seats are filled except for, of course, Bucky’s. Somehow Steve finds that it doesn’t anger him, however. “Today we’re going to move onwards to basic sketching techniques. I find that this tends to be one of the classes people enjoy the most, since sketching a simple yet effective way to capture whatever you wish to draw. Today we’re just going to be using a 2B pencil and your sketchbooks.”

He turns to the chalkboard behind him and starts drawing some simple shapes on the board—a sphere, a cylinder, a cube, a rectangle.

“These are the basic shapes that underlie almost every object, especially symmetric ones,” Steve explains. He then draws an empty wine bottle on the board. “See how this bottle is a combination of two cylinders? One thick and one thin. I’ve drawn those shapes as the base, and then softened the lines so they flow together more easily into the whole picture.”

Heads are nodding across the classroom, and he senses some excitement as well. “Alright so, as far as the type of line you want to create--”

The door creaks open and Bucky slips in. This time, however, he gives Steve a little half-wave before heading to his seat. Steve smiles back at him and he feels a little happier for some reason.

“As far as the type of line we want to create,” he continues, “we want it to be light but still decisive. We haven’t forgotten about recording the contours of the objects as we did last week, we’re just using a different type of line to get there. Remember to pay attention to what you’re drawing, don’t let the ease of sketching take away from your accuracy.

“So I’d like us all to start with practicing sketching these basic shapes I’ve got up here. Once you feel like you have the hang of that, you can start sketching some of the objects up here on the table.” Steve’s brought some bottles of varying sizes, books, empty soda cans, and assorted small fruit. “Alright everyone, just have fun and I’ll be around to answer questions!”

Steve puts on the Lumineers today as background music while the veterans start drawing. He wants to give everyone about twenty minutes to get a feel for sketching before he starts making his rounds, so he sits down at his desk and pulls out his own sketchbook. He tucks his legs under himself in the chair and taps a pencil at the side of his mouth thoughtfully. It’s sunny today for once and the light streams in through the windows in long arcs. It makes for interesting shadows in the room, putting everyone’s face in relief.

His gaze wanders around the room, his eyes searching for something to catch interest. He could always draw the objects he brought, he supposes. It’s always good to return to basics to keep his skills up to par.

He finds himself staring at, however, a certain brunet in the corner of the room. Bucky’s got his hair up in a bun again today, but a few strands have escaped and are falling in gentle waves around his face. The sun shines on him, such that his hair is gleaming a honey brown color in the light. Bucky’s totally focused on his paper and there’s a crease between his eyebrows as he draws. As Bucky thumbs at the corner of his mouth distractedly, Steve finds himself mesmerized by his lips. They’re plush and pink, a little raw from being bitten. Bucky’s mouth has an interesting shape to it, a graceful sort of curve that highlights the fullness of his lips. Steve unconsciously runs his fingers over his own lips. He wonders what Bucky’s mouth would feel like pressed up against his own.

Before Steve fully realizes it, he’s started sketching Bucky’s lips onto the page. He outlines the curve first, then adds detail with shading, trying his best to capture the soft fullness he can almost feel. When he finishes that, he draws Bucky’s nose, then his eyes. Their clear blue is offset by thick, dark lashes, part of what makes Bucky’s gaze so striking. Steve moves on to sketching Bucky’s bone structure, the solidness of his chin and the beautiful lines of his defined jaw. This is the opposite of how Steve draws faces, usually he starts with the hair and overall shape of the head and then fills in the features. But somehow Steve can’t get the gestalt of Bucky’s face without doing his features first—they’re too unique, too striking.

Steve finishes the drawing before he’s even aware of the time passing. He sits back and examines the sketch carefully. It definitely looks like Bucky, but it’s not perfect and that irritates Steve. It’s almost as if there’s some crucial part of Bucky that he’s missed, like his drawing is incomplete. His fingers itch to turn the page and try again, but a quick glance at the clock tells him it’s more than past time for him start walking around. He shoves his sketchbook back in his bag and tries to push Bucky’s face out of his mind.

Steve spends the rest of class taking his time meandering among the students, crouching down and really taking in their work. They’re all doing really well, he thinks, and seem to be enjoying the ease that comes with sketching. He provides encouragement and a few pointers here and there, but mostly just leaves the veterans to experiment and work through their own difficulties. Steve’s knows that’s how new artists progress, when they can figure out what’s challenging them and find a way to work through it.

After class ends, Steve takes his time strolling to the coffee shop. He enjoys the feeling of the sunlight on his face, even if the wind whips against his cheeks with biting cold. Moving to Seattle was a good choice, he thinks. The city is not only gorgeous, but has a laid back vibe to it. There are coffee shops on almost every corner and no one looks twice at Steve with his half shaved head and combat boots. He even dyed the tips of his hair neon pink a few months ago and he still fit right in.

Steve savors the smell of ground coffee beans and steamed milk that greets him once he steps inside La Vida Mocha. But then his heart starts hammering as he looks around the shop. It’s not like he’s _expecting_ to see him, he just wonders if, maybe…

Bucky’s there. He’s settled at the same table as last week, frowning down at a thick book and sipping something out of a wide mug. Steve’s stomach swoops despite himself and he walks up to the counter to order with a little more pep than usual.

Once he has his coffee in hand, Steve approaches Bucky’s table slowly. Bucky apparently is engrossed in his book and hasn’t looked up yet. Steve’s not sure if he should say hi. What if he’s bothering Bucky and he just wants to be left alone? Maybe he comes to this coffee shop just to get some peace and quiet and Steve’s about to ruin that. After all, Steve hates it when people interrupt his sketching. Plus, he doesn’t really know Bucky all that well. He’s basically just a stalker with the way he’s obsessed with drawing Bucky’s face.

Steve’s just about to turn away and sit as far away from Bucky as possible when the other man looks up and breaks into a stunning, wide smile. “Steve!” he calls, waving him over.

Steve obliges, slipping into the seat opposite Bucky and placing his coffee on the table. “Hey,” he says, clearing his throat a little. “Good job in class today.” Bucky had excelled at the sketching, taking to the technique easily.

Bucky starts chuckling for some reason, and Steve swipes at his face, horrified that maybe he has something there. “What are you laughing at?” he demands, when Bucky gives no explanation.

“Nothing, it’s just—your nose and cheeks are super pink from the cold. You look like Rudolph,” Bucky grins.

“Oh,” Steve feels himself blush, self-conscious.

“It’s cute, don’t worry,” Bucky assures him and Steve blushes further at that. What kind of cute? Cute as in little-brother cute or does Bucky mean something else?

“Sketching was really fun today,” Bucky continues, seemingly oblivious.

“Good,” Steve answers, trying to regain his footing. “That’s one of my favorite classes to teach.”

“How long have you been teaching art for?” Bucky asks curiously, taking a sip of his drink.

“About a year now. I’ve been working at the VA for two years, but at first I was just visiting the hospitalized patients. Then I suggested we start an outpatient art therapy class and luckily we got a lot of interest.”

“That’s awesome,” Bucky affirms. “I think it means a lot to everyone to have the class to go to. At least for me,” he shrugs a little.

Steve nods. “How long have you been out?”

“Six months now,” Bucky doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes, staring fixedly at his coffee. “It’s been kind of rough.”

“Yeah,” Steve says gently. “I think it is for a lot of veterans.”

Bucky sighs heavily. “Yeah, I guess I just thought I’d be further along in…life, I guess, by now. Feels like I’m starting over.”

“I know the feeling,” Steve says. “I moved here to start over.”

Bucky nods curiously, silently waiting for him to continue.

“I grew up in New York—Brooklyn. Then I went to NYU for college. But, um…well, after my Ma passed away, I needed a fresh start. Guess I figured moving clear across the country was my best bet.” Steve swallows a little thickly. “My Ma was the best part of New York. Once she was gone there wasn’t anything there for me anymore.”

Bucky’s got a gentle look on his face, but it’s not the simpering, pitying look that Steve hates. Just soft understanding. Steve blinks back the sting at the corners of his eyes, and lets out a long exhale.

“Enough about me. What’s your story?” Steve asks Bucky, leaning back in his chair. “Is Bucky your real name?”

“No,” laughs Bucky. “Childhood nickname that my sister came up with for me, and it just sort of stuck. My real name’s James Buchanan Barnes.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Hence why I go by Bucky.”

Steve gestures for him to continue. “And?”

“And…I dunno? I grew up in New York too, actually. Queens. I enlisted straight out of high school, been serving for the last eight years. Got discharged when this happened.”

Bucky hesitates, then slowly rolls up the left sleeve of his hoodie. Steve suppresses a gasp. His arm is covered in a twisting pattern of thick, red, raised scars. From the look of it, the scars must extend all the way up Bucky’s arm to his shoulder, maybe even over his back. Steve has a sudden urge to rub his fingers gently over those scars, to ease the pain they must have caused. He folds his hands in his lap instead.

“Wow,” Steve says, trying not to say the wrong thing. He wants to tell Bucky he’s still the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. “That looks like it hurt.”

“Like a bitch,” Bucky answers, rolling his sleeve back down. “The doctors almost had to amputate.”

“Can I ask…?” Steve falters.

“IED in Iraq. Lost half my squad.” Bucky stares pensively into his coffee. “I can’t really talk about it, sorry.”

“No, it’s ok,” Steve rushes. “I understand.”

Bucky nods silently. He sighs, tucks some hair behind his ear. “So how are you liking Seattle? I moved here mostly for the coffee, honestly.”

“It’s great,” Steve answers. “I’ve made a couple of really good friends here, there’s a ton to do and I really like the vibe. I keep meaning to check out that place…”

He loses his train of thought when Bucky pulls the hair tie from his bun and his hair suddenly waterfalls down to his shoulders in thick waves. Bucky tips his head down and frowns as he carefully sweeps his hair back into neater bun, catching the strands that were previously loose. He glances up with both hands still buried in his hair and the elastic between his teeth when he registers that Steve’s stopped talking.

“Sorry,” Steve shakes his head to clear it. “I’m an artist, I don’t do conversations well,” he jokes.

Bucky chuckles around the elastic in his mouth, and finishes tying up his bun. “Tell me about something you want to draw, then,” Bucky says.

_You. A thousand times over._

“I’ve got this little dog, Cookie. I’ve sketched her a lot but fur is surprisingly hard to get right,” Steve says lightly. “She’s my subject more often than not. According to my friends I’m a homebody.”

“You’re pale enough that I believe it,” Bucky grins cheekily.

“It’s Seattle! There’s no sun here,” Steve defends.

“Whatever you say, Dracula.”

Steve tries to be offended but he’s really just fond. Being around Bucky feels warm and safe somehow.

“Can I see some of your work?” Bucky asks, and Steve’s mind immediately flashes to the stalker drawing of Bucky sitting right in the middle of his sketchbook.

“Um, it’s kind of personal,” Steve says evasively. “I’d rather not, if that’s ok.” As in, no way in hell is Steve letting Bucky get his hands on that sketchbook. He’d rather die first. He probably _would_ die of embarrassment if Bucky ever saw that picture.

“Fair enough,” Bucky shrugs. “I knit, but don’t tell anyone.”

“You knit?!” Steve exclaims. “Now that’s adorable.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to blush. “Yeah, well. Since I’m on disability I have way more free time than I know what to do with. Sister suggested knitting, here I am two afghans later.”

“Impressive,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Do you take requests?”

“Dunno if I could find needles small enough to knit something for you,” Bucky teases.

“Ha ha,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“How tall are you anyway?”

“Five-four. You got a problem with that?” Steve crosses his arms. “Because I _will_ fight you.”

“Easy, tiger,” Bucky raises eyebrows. “I generally try not to get in fights with new friends.”

 _New friends_. Steve’s heart skips a beat. Bucky thinks of them as friends now.

Bucky suddenly grins like he’s just thought of something. “I’m exactly a foot taller than you.”

Steve groans. “Now you’re just rubbing it in.”

“Sorry, sorry. No more size-ist comments, I promise,” Bucky assures.

“I’m used to it,” Steve shrugs. “Unfortunately. Being the smallest kid in school didn’t exactly make me Mr. Popular.”

Bucky frowns. “That’s not cool,” he mutters, and Steve wonders if he’s imagining a hint of protectiveness in Bucky’s voice.

“Is what it is,” Steve shrugs again, not sure of what else to say.

“Well if any schoolkids give you trouble now, let me know. I can take ‘em,” Bucky smirks.

“My hero,” Steve says sarcastically.

“So I’ve been told.”

They both lapse into a comfortable sort of silence, sipping idly at their coffees that are now growing cold.

“Well, I’m going to get back to this,” Bucky says eventually, gesturing to his book.

“Ah, what’s the book of the week?” Steve asks. Bucky shows him the title: _The Best You Now! How to face your fears and reclaim your life TODAY._

Steve snorts at the cheesy title. “Another therapy book?” he guesses.

“No, this one’s courtesy of my mom. She sends me a new book, like, every week,” Bucky sighs. “But it seems to make her happy so…”

“So you read them,” Steve supplies. Bucky nods.

“I do that with my friend Natasha,” Steve commiserates. “Except her thing is forcing us to try new ‘experiences’. Think paintballing, rock climbing, ten mile hikes, that sort of thing. Turns out I’m not cut out for ten mile hikes, apparently.”

“I could have told you that,” Bucky smirks.

“Yeah, well, I may be _slightly_  stubborn. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Bucky echoes dubiously.

Steve rolls his eyes and pulls out his sketchbook. Bucky perks up. “No peeking!” Steve defends, hiding the pages from Bucky as he flips to a blank one. “This is top secret stuff.”

“One day,” Bucky muses. “One day I’ll get you to show me.”

“You can try,” Steve says, digging around in his bag for a pencil. “Just don’t make me say I told you so.”

“What are you going to draw?” Bucky seems really interested now. Steve forces himself to look away from Bucky (the subject he’d _really_ like to draw) and glances around the coffee shop. There’s a middle aged woman sitting a few tables away, writing into some sort of notebook. She’s dressed like a typical suburban mom in Nike leggings and has a bobbed haircut. But there’s something about the way she focuses on her writing, about the look of concentration mixed with longing, maybe, on her face that catches Steve’s eye.

“Her,” Steve murmurs to Bucky, pointing her out with his pencil discreetly.

“Hmm,” Bucky observes the woman in question with the practiced ease of someone used to looking at people without their noticing. “Why her?”

“Um,” Steve’s a little thrown off by Bucky’s interest in his art. Nat and Sam never really ask him questions about what he’s drawing or why. “On the surface she seems like someone you’ve seen before, a typical mom, you know? But then you look harder and you see that she’s got a lot of emotion in her face. Her posture’s all tight and hunched, her focus is so intent on that journal. There’s something that she’s writing that she really has to get out.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, considering. “Yeah, I can see that now. Wow, Steve. You’re really an artist.”

Steve shrugs away the compliment. “I just like people. They’re never what you see on the surface.”

“True,” Bucky agrees. He gestures at Steve’s paper. “Well don’t let me stop you. I want to see your work in action.”

Steve nods and picks up his pencil, tapping it against his sketchbook idly. He feels self-conscious knowing that Bucky’s watching him, but he just focuses on centering himself, getting into his artistic headspace. When he’s drawing he doesn’t really think in words, instead there’s more of an instinctual connection between what his eyes see and his hand drawing on the page. The chatter in his mind shuts off as soon as he makes the first mark on the paper.

Soon his only focus is the woman and his increasingly detailed sketch of her. He’s only vaguely aware of Bucky glancing up at him from his book occasionally, and he has no sense of the time passing. He’s shading the woman’s eyes (squinted, with not-quite wrinkles creasing the corners) when he jerks up to a tap on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Bucky apologizes gently. “Couldn’t get your attention. I’ve got to head out now.”

Steve feels disproportionately sad at that, but knows he’ll probably have to get back to work not before long anyway. “Okay,” he says, trying to refocus on Bucky, his art brain still whirring away. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Sure will,” Bucky affirms. “That’s amazing, by the way,” he points at Steve’s sketch.

“Oh, uh thanks,” Steve says. “It’s not done.”

“Still amazing,” Bucky repeats. “Alright, catch you later Steve.”

“Bye,” Steve waves, and Bucky tucks his book under his arm and saunters out of the shop.

Steve feels unusually lonely after Bucky leaves, but forces himself to refocus on his drawing. He quickly loses himself to the sketch again, and before he knows it, it’s time to go back to work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is her usual self and Steve continues to deal with his growing attraction for Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Thanks as always for the support, much love! xoxo 
> 
> I want to say that I know not too much has happened between Steve and Bucky yet, but starting next chapter things will get a little more interesting...so stay tuned. ;) I hope you're not bored yet!! 
> 
> Updates Tuesdays and Fridays. Tumblr @notwithouttyou

It’s a busy week for Steve, so the rest of it passes in a blur. On the weekend Natasha decides she wants to go bar hopping, so the four of them (Clint, Steve, Sam, and Nat) spend Saturday night bouncing around different bars in downtown Seattle. Steve has a total of two whole drinks and it’s enough to leave him lethargic and groggy the following Sunday. He spends the day lazing around his apartment with a mild headache, cuddling with Cookie on the couch and watching the History Channel. He goes to bed early Sunday night, content with the knowledge that tomorrow is what has quickly become his favorite day of the week.

Monday morning is dreary and chilly but that doesn’t dull Steve’s excitement for class. It’s just class he’s looking forward to, he tells himself, not anything else. Except his mind keeps drifting to La Vida Mocha—the homey interior, the warm vegan macchiato he loves, and most of all…Bucky. He doesn’t know why he can’t get Bucky out of his head, he’s just a new friend that’s all. Steve doesn’t have time for anything else, and besides, Bucky’s obviously straight and not interested.

He still takes a little more time than usual getting ready, fussing with his hair in annoyance. Suddenly it seems like his hair isn’t laying right, and his eyes are too big for his face and his collar bones jut out too much and his nose is weirdly shaped and…

Steve sighs and takes a breath. “Get a grip,” he tells his reflection sternly. “You look exactly the same you always do.” Begrudgingly he turns away from the mirror and picks out an outfit—typical black skinnies, a vintage band tee, and an old pair of mittens that his Ma knit him long ago. His heart sinks when he realizes the date today. It’ll be one week until…well, he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Natasha’s lounging on Steve’s desk when he arrives to the studio, her ridiculously long legs stretched out in front of her. She’s glowering at Steve through her eyelashes.

“Remind me why I have to be here again?” she says darkly.

“Because you love me,” Steve throws his arms around her neck. “And I spent all of Sunday curled up on my couch with a _terrible_  hangover because I’m small and weak and _someone_  forced me to go drinking with them and the amazing friend I am, who was I to say no…” he exaggerates, with hand gestures.

“Alright, alright,” Natasha interrupts, rolling her eyes. “Enough with the guilt tripping. You already got me to agree to model for your class. But,” she points a stern finger at him. “I have to see who this guy you’re crushing on is.”

“I’m not crushing on anyone,” Steve sighs, taking a seat on the desk next to her. “Like I told you maybe ten thousand times last weekend. He’s a friend.”

“Who you’re obsessed with.”

“It’s purely an artistic obsession,” he says. “Like admiring a painting or something.”

“Sure,” Natasha drawls, looking entirely unconvinced.

Steve glares. “Did you come here to help or to drill me about my non-existent love life?”

“I’m at your service Stevie,” Natasha flutters her eyelashes. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

Steve snorts loudly. “Yeah, ok. You can start by helping me get the easels out.”

Natasha helps him set up the classroom and Steve pulls out a stool for her to sit on at the front of the room. The lighting isn’t perfect today but Natasha’s always an excellent model, as much as she likes to complain about it. She exudes an aura of confidence that’s tempered by hidden vulnerabilities—she’s all sharp edges and daunting looks on the outside but surprisingly soft at heart. Steve’s already spent many hours drawing her, and even then she still fascinates him.

He and Natasha have never had any romantic chemistry, but he still appreciates her striking beauty and intellect. He doesn’t expect his students to capture all of Natasha’s nuances, however, he more just likes her as a model because he knows she’s interesting enough to hold his students’ attention while they struggle through the difficulties of drawing people.

Veterans start trickling in, curiously looking at Natasha as they head to their seats. Natasha wiggles her eyebrows at Steve suggestively each time a man under 40 walks in, but Steve just shakes his head in amusement. Steve expects Bucky to be late, but just as he’s about to start class, Bucky walks in. He waves and grins at Steve before sitting down. Steve feels himself blush deeply—damn his Irish genes—and Natasha immediately grabs him by the shoulders and turns him away from the class.

“ _That’s_ him?!” she exclaims quietly. “Oh my god Steve.”

“Shhh, he’ll hear you,” he mutters. “Yeah that’s him.”

“Oh my god,” she repeats, eyebrows up near her hairline. “He is like…way more attractive than I thought.”

“What does that mean?” Steve crosses his arms petulantly. “You think he’s out of my league? Not that I’m interested,” he rushes to add.

“You’re obviously interested, and no, of course not. You’re a gorgeous little charmer. I’m just saying…introduce me to his brother.”

“Hands off, you have Clint,” Steve retorts. “Are you done gossiping? I have a class to teach.”

Natasha just sends him another pointed look and they both turn back around. Steve clears his throat loudly and the chatter in the classroom dies down.

“Welcome back everyone,” he smiles, and his heart stutters a little when Bucky returns the smile. “As you can see, we have a visitor today.” He pulls Natasha into a one-armed hug. “This is my good friend Natasha she’s been so gracious as to come model for us today.”

“Hello everyone,” Natasha says in that slow, intimidating way of hers. “If you make me look unattractive I will be deeply offended.” A few people chuckle, but most just look terrified.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Nat, stop scaring my students.”

She shrugs and settles gracefully onto the stool at the front of the room, smoothly crossing her legs.

“She’s completely harmless I promise,” Steve assures the room, and the veterans laugh more heartily at that. Steve chances a glance at Bucky and he’s grinning at Steve with this soft look on his face that makes Steve feel warm all over.

“So as you can tell, today we’re starting figure drawing,” Steve continues, leaning against his desk. “Now I know a lot of new artists feel intimated by drawing people. I definitely was. But I want us to approach figure drawing in the same way we have approached everything else so far—by paying attention to lines and shapes.”

Steve starts drawing a rough outline of a person on the board. “Now as you can see,” he says as he turns back around. “Here there are a lot of basic shapes. An oval for the head, a modified rectangle for the torso and long ovals for the arms and legs. Today I want you to find those basic shapes in Natasha. We’re not drawing details right now, portrait drawing will be another session. Instead I want you to relax and jut try and capture the overall feel of her pose and focus on bringing out those simple shapes. I know you guys will all do great and I’ll be here to help.”

“Nat, can you turn so you’re at more of a three-quarters view?” he asks, and Natasha adjusts her position until Steve nods. “Okay everyone, any questions? Alright. Natasha’s going to hold each pose for fifteen minutes so you should be able to get four sketches in. Alright, let’s start!” He claps his hands in excitement and turns on some classical music.

The energy in the room is tense, Steve can tell. He hopes everyone will relax as they get more into their art. Figure drawing is always a stressful day for his students, mostly because everyone has so many built up misconceptions about how impossible it is.

Steve sits at his desk and does his own quick sketch of Natasha. He wants to draw her himself so he can get a feel for the pose to better help his students. Once he finishes that, he heads over to the veterans that look like they’re struggling the most.

He gives some pointers here and there, but mostly just helps calm everyone’s nerves with gentle encouragements. His goal for today is not really for them to make great sketches of Natasha, it’s more that they will work past their artistic blocks around figure drawing.

“Hey Bucky,” he murmurs when he reaches his easel, crouching down even though that makes Bucky tower over him in his seat. Steve examines Bucky’s sketch carefully. His rendition of Natasha is accurate, but it’s also distant somehow.

It’s formulaic, Steve realizes, Bucky hasn’t captured any of the grace in her pose, or the rigidity of her muscles. The drawing could be of anyone. Normally Steve wouldn’t be concerned because it’s a very good beginner sketch. But he knows Bucky well enough to know he’s capable of more.

Steve looks up at Bucky. “Tell me how you feel about your sketch,” he says.

Bucky bites his lip, hums while staring pensively at the drawing. “I don’t know. I like it…but I feel like I could do better.”

“I think you could do better too,” Steve agrees. “Which isn’t to say there’s anything wrong with your drawing, but I think you’re holding yourself back.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs and pushes his hair back from his face. It’s loose today, slightly wet from the drizzle outside. “Yeah, I know.”

Steve straightens back up and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. He tries not to focus too much on how solid Bucky’s shoulder is, the thick muscles he can feel through his thin shirt. Steve’s hand doesn’t even come close to encircling his shoulder. “Let yourself feel close to the subject. It’s ok to get attached,” he says.

Bucky considers that, nods. “Thanks.”

Steve moves away and has Natasha switch positions. The next three poses go easier for the veterans than the first, and the collective tension gradually drains from the room as the students gain more confidence in their sketches. It amazes Steve how much they all have progressed already, and he can tell that a few of them have quite a bit of talent. But his favorite students are actually the ones that struggle the most, the ones that drawing doesn’t come naturally to. Coaxing them through their personal artistic blocks is gratifying for Steve and always reminds him why he does the work he does.

“So he’s in love with you,” Natasha announces once class is over and the studio is empty.

“What?” Steve huffs, cleaning up some leftover pencils. “Stop being ridiculous.”

“I’m serious Steve,” she continues. “He spent more time staring at you than at me.”

He turns his back to her and pretends to shuffle some papers. “He’s straight, Natasha.”

“And what basis do you have for that conclusion?”

“I can just tell,” Steve assures. “And I have no interest in falling for a straight man.”

Natasha’s silent a moment. “You know it’s ok to take a chance sometimes,” she says softly. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but you’ve got to let good things happen too.”

“It’s not that simple,” Steve sighs, and sinks into a chair. “I just…I can’t.”

Natasha takes a seat next to him and considers him carefully with her striking green eyes. “It’s next week isn’t it?” Suddenly they’re not talking about Bucky anymore.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, averting his gaze. “Sunday.”

“Oh Stevie,” she sighs, and pulls him in for a crushing hug. “I love you, you know that?”

“Thanks Nat. I love you too,” he says, muffled by her shoulder.

Natasha holds him at arm’s length. “I have to go back to work. Are you going to be ok?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers and lets out a long breath. “I’m just going to get some coffee.”

She looks unsatisfied but stands. “You’ll call me or Sam if you’re not ok, yes?”

“Pinky swear,” Steve promises and Natasha reluctantly heads out.

Steve’s more than ready for a coffee by the time he makes it to La Vida Mocha. He hopes that he hasn’t missed Bucky by taking too long, but as soon as he walks in he spots Bucky at his favored table, nose deep in a book. He looks up as Steve walks in, gesturing him over enthusiastically.

Steve shucks his messenger bag and slides into the seat opposite Bucky. “Guess you’re a regular now huh?” he teases.

“Guess so,” Bucky smirks. He pushes a coffee cup toward Steve. “I had a free drink on my punch card so...”

“Wait, what?” Steve exclaims. “No way, I’ll pay you back.”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Bucky shakes his head. “Just drink it.”

Steve bites his lip. He’s certainly not one to take handouts from people but something in Bucky’s expression is so earnest he would feel bad refusing. “Well, thanks Bucky. You didn’t have to,” he says, taking a sip. It’s a no-whip almond milk caramel macchiato. “Wait, how do you know my order?” he frowns.

“I asked the barista,” Bucky shrugs. “They said you practically live here.”

“Well first of all that’s not true,” Steve defends. “But seriously, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky waves a hand, sheepish. “How do you think the figure drawing went?”

“Pretty well,” Steve considers. “I think people freaked out at first but then got the hang of it.”

“Yeah that Natasha is a little…intense.”

“She just doesn’t want people to see the true softie she is,” Steve smiles fondly. “I love her to death.”

Bucky takes a long sip of his coffee, eyeing him intently. “So are you two, like…?” he trails off, waving a hand.

Steve nearly spits his coffee across the table. “What?! No! Oh my god, no way. Nat and I are like, siblings,” he answers, laughing and coughing at the same time. “Oh wow that’s hilarious.”

“Alright don’t choke,” Bucky cautions but his expression is a little brighter somehow. “I was just wondering.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” Steve chuckles, catching his breath.

“Glad to provide a laugh,” Bucky says sarcastically.

“Nat and I have been best friends ever since I started working at the VA,” Steve explains. “She’s been amazing.”

“She seems like the type to not let anyone mess with her friends,” Bucky smiles. “My sister is kind of like that.”

“Yeah?” Steve says curiously. Bucky hasn’t told him much about his family so far.

“Yeah she’s tough on the outside but secretly real sweetheart. I love her to death—Becca. She’s still halfway pissed at me for moving all the way out here. Christmas is going to be great this year, I haven’t seen them all for half a year.”

“Going back to Queens?’

“Yep,” Bucky smiles wistfully. “It’s good for me to be here, but I sure do miss ‘em.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, and tries not to think about the Christmases he used to have with his Ma when she was alive. Most times they didn’t have any money for presents, but Steve never minded. Instead, every year he would spend weeks drawing a picture for her and give it to her on Christmas. She always teared up and told Steve how proud she was of his talent, pulling him in for a tight hug. The two of them would sit cross legged on the floor eating Christmas cookies their neighbor baked for them and play Scrabble until they got too sleepy. It was always enough, what they had—they made it enough.

“You ok?” Bucky’s peering closely at Steve, eyebrows knitted together. “Your face got all sad all of a sudden.”

Bucky’s expression is so caring, so sincere that Steve feels like he could spill his guts to Bucky and he’d understand. But he can’t do that. Bucky has his own shit he’s going through and doesn’t need Steve’s baggage weighing him down.

“I’m fine,” Steve shakes his head to clear it. “Artist’s brain, remember?”

Bucky looks like he doesn’t believe him but doesn’t press the subject.

In search of a change of topic, Steve gestures at Bucky’s discarded reading. “So what’s this week’s book?”

“ _1001 Things to Do Before You Die_ ,” Bucky reads the title. “It’s mostly just making me feel depressed. I’m definitely not going to go rock climbing in Yosemite, or…” he flips to a random page, “learn how to scuba dive.”

Steve laughs and pulls the book towards himself. “Ok let’s see…‘Go wine and cheese tasting in Napa’. Well I’m vegan so that’ll be a no.” He turns the page, scanning down. “Ha! Run a half marathon. Give me a new set of lungs and I’ll break out my Nikes.”

Laughing, Bucky leans over to look at the book too. He smells like mint shampoo, and Steve knows if he tilted his head up just so, Bucky’s face would be almost touching his. He’s intoxicated by the thought.

“Here’s one,” Bucky says, pointing at the page. “’Celebrate New Years in Times Square.’ I get panic attacks in crowds so that’s out.”

“Fair enough. And right here, ‘Ride a roller coaster in the front car.’ Roller coasters make me puke everywhere so I’m gonna decline,” Steve chimes in.

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah I think I can go without seeing that.”

They continue perusing the book, laughing and finding reasons why they can’t do each item. It’s fun and comfortable and easy, and Steve’s still surprised by how quickly he and Bucky have bonded. It feels natural when they spend time together. Steve is disappointed when his alarm rings, but Bucky promises to see him next week. Steve says goodbye and leaves for work feeling light and happy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a rough week. Sam, Nat, and Bucky are there to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is pretty much shameless Steve hurt/comfort so if that's not your thing...sorry lol. 
> 
> Much love to all my readers and hooray for the half way point!! I'm so excited for this fic to be finished but I'll definitely be sad too. I've almost got the whole thing written and your continued support is really helping me plug along. <3 
> 
> Trigger warnings for discussions of grief and loss of a parent, and also a quasi-panic attack. 
> 
> Updates Tuesdays and Fridays. Tumblr @notwithouttyou

Sunday rolls around like a dark cloud damping Steve’s mood. He knew the day was coming, of course, but all week he’d been trying to compartmentalize his feelings and it had worked pretty well up until the day comes.

He wakes groggily after a fitful night of sleep. His heart sinks painfully when he realizes he can’t run from his emotions any longer. Today is the three-year anniversary of his Ma’s death and it _hurts_. The pain of losing her feels just as potent as it did three years ago, as if he’s back in the hospital room, holding her frail hand and choking back sobs. As if they’re back at that fateful doctor’s appointment—October 14th, 2013, he remembers it clear as day—when the doctor had come in with a grave face. _Stage four lung cancer. Metastases all over her body. Nothing they could do. Hospice care._

He would’ve thought three years later he’d have moved on, or at least come to some sort of peaceful acceptance of her death. But no, he’s still aching inside, the only difference is on most days he’s able to push the pain aside and go on with his life. Not today.

Steve lays in bed and stares at the ceiling. He’s not crying, but his chest is clenching so tight he almost wonders if he’s having an asthma attack. The only small consolation he has is that this year the anniversary is on a Sunday, so at least he doesn’t have to face work today. Even drawing doesn’t sound appealing today.

Eventually he gathers enough energy to move, and he tiredly takes his meds and gets dressed. He only has one goal for the day, and that’s to visit his mom’s grave. His Ma had been cremated and Steve had scattered her ashes across Brooklyn, but he’d also had a headstone erected for her in a local cemetery so he’d have somewhere to remember her.

He takes a bus to the cemetery, staring out the window blankly. Somehow the city doesn’t seem so beautiful today, it’s just gray and foreign and lonely. When he steps off the bus, the freezing chill makes him realize that he’d forgotten to bring a jacket. He can’t muster up the energy to care, just wraps his arms around himself in the way-too-thin flannel he’s wearing and walks toward the cemetery.

The grass of the cemetery is lush and green, a sprawling expanse dotted with numerous gravestones. There are flowers adorning the graves here and there, and Steve clutches the lilies he’d brought tightly. He winds his way through the graves to his Ma’s spot easily, he’d been coming here almost every day when he first moved here.

He kneels down in the wet grass, not caring that he’s getting mud on his jeans. He unwraps the flowers and places them gently against the granite of her headstone.

“Hi Ma,” he whispers, and now the tears spill out, like a dam has burst somewhere inside him. He’s glad there’s no one around to see him, as he shudders with wracking sobs. For a while he just kneels there and cries, cries like he’s losing her all over again, cries like it would be less painful to rip out his heart than to endure this pain. It starts raining and soon his tears are mixed with raindrops, a river of wetness on his face.

“I miss you so much Ma,” he chokes out eventually. “I miss you every day, every single moment. I know you wanted me to move on with my life, and I’m trying, but sometimes I’m not sure I want to without you.”

“It was always you and me,” he continues. “All those years, I didn’t have anyone else but I had you. And that made it all ok. How am I supposed to do this without you? I just miss you so much, Ma. It hurts so bad.”

“And there are good things, Ma, I want you to know that. I love my job and I’ve got Sam and Nat now, and Cookie, and most days are good, they really are. I think you’d be proud of me, for starting over, for keeping going. But I just wish that you were here to see it, to share it with me. I don’t know why you had to go so soon. Maybe I should’ve fought harder, somehow, found the money to pay for those experimental treatments…Did I fail you Ma? All my life you took care of me, but I couldn’t take care of you when it really counted.”

He breaks down again, his voice too choked with tears to speak. It’s the heaviest guilt he carries around, that maybe if he had somehow done more, had been a better son, he could have saved her. If maybe he hadn’t needed all of those medications himself, they could have had more saved up, could have flown her out to see the top doctors. He’d done everything he could think of at the time to get her treatment, but it just wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

“Steve,” murmurs a soft voice, and suddenly Natasha’s there, crouching down next to him. Sam joins on his other side, holding an umbrella over them. Both of their faces are somber.

Steve tries to hold back but he can’t, just leans into Natasha and sobs into her shoulder. She wraps both arms around him and hugs him tight, murmuring a soothing “shhh”. Sam joins in on the hug and they both hold Steve likes he’s a child and he’s embarrassed but grateful at the same time.

Steve cries until he can’t cry anymore, and then they all break apart. It’s raining hard, and they’re all drenched. “You’re shivering,” Natasha says, concerned. Steve notices for the first time that he is indeed shaking, the combination of his lack of jacket and the rain making him cold to the bone.

“Is it ok if we head back to your apartment?” Sam asks gently.

Steve nods, wiping his face. He straightens the flowers over his mother’s grave, stands. “Bye, Ma,” he says. “I love you.”

Natasha and Sam lead him back to Sam’s car with their arms around his shoulders. He’s so lucky to have them as friends. They always remember when it’s this day and don’t leave him alone, no matter how much he insists.

He sinks into a kitchen chair once they make it to his apartment, not caring that he’s still shivering or his clothes are dripping on the floor. Nat and Sam join him, Natasha holding his hands across the table.

“How ya doin’ Stevie?” Sam asks, concern knitting his dark eyebrows.

“Not too great,” Steve answers, stating the obvious. He takes a shaky breath. “I just keep thinking it won’t be that hard this year, but it always is.”

Sam nods in understanding. “There’s no time limit on grief. As much as we wish there was.”

“I know it probably seems silly that I’m still so broken up about this,” Steve apologizes, but both Nat and Sam shake their heads. “It’s just…she was my whole world. She was with me through everything. She was honestly my best friend.”

Natasha squeezes his hand. “It’s not silly, Steve. Not at all.”

“Yeah man, we’re here for you,” Sam chimes in. “Thick and thin.”

“Thank you,” Steve looks up, sincere. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, seriously.”

Sam pulls him in for a warm hug and Natasha follows suit.

Steve heads to his room to clean up. He showers quickly, and puts on his most comfortable pair of sweatpants and a worn NYU sweatshirt, along with thick socks. Sam and Natasha are sprawled out on his couch when he returns, so he joins them, leaning against Sam’s shoulder.

“ _Casablanca_?” Nat suggests, knowing full well that it’s Steve’s favorite movie. Steve nods, exhausted. Nat puts the movie on and cuddles up next to him, so Steve is warmly sandwiched between her and Sam. He’s emotionally drained but also feels loved and so amazingly lucky to have them as friends.

They watch the classic movie in a comfortable silence, but all of the stress of the day eventually catches up to Steve and he drifts off somewhere in the first hour. The next time he wakes up, it’s dark and he’s tucked into his bed. There’s a post it note on the nightstand and he squints to read it.

_We love you. –Sam and Nat_

He really does have the best friends.

 

++

Steve wakes up the following Monday morning exhausted. Normally he’d be jumping out of bed since it’s class day, but he feels dead tired. He assumes it’s from all the crying yesterday, but then he swallows and realizes his throat is swollen and sore. _Fuck_. He does _not_ have time to get sick right now. He silently curses himself for getting drenched and freezing yesterday, because of course his useless immune system would fail him. Whatever, he decides, he’ll just load up on Vitamin C and keep going as usual.

By the time he takes a shower and gets dressed, he has to lie back down for a few minutes because his head is pounding and he’s dizzy. This definitely does not bode well, but there’s no way he’s leaving his students high and dry. Today is portrait drawing, one of his favorite subjects, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He digs around in his bedside table until he finds a packet of DayQuil and downs two quickly, grimacing at the pain in his throat.

He’s definitely not in the best of moods by the time he makes it to the VA. But he’s here dammit, he congratulates himself, headache and all. After he finishes prepping the studio for class, he sits down at his desk and buries his head in his arms, sniffling miserably. This is really just the cherry on top of a horrible couple of days.

He must doze off, because he jolts awake to the sound of the door opening and students shuffling in. He quickly pinches his cheeks to perk up a little and plasters a welcoming smile on his face. He will enjoy this class if it kills him.

Once everyone’s arrived (including Bucky, who’s frowning slightly at him) Steve clears his raspy throat several times.

“Welcome back everyone,” he smiles. “Today should be a great session. We’re going to be diving into portrait drawing today. Now don’t panic,” he holds his hands up. “I know this is an extremely difficult subject for most people. And it should be, because faces are complicated. But that’s also what makes them so captivating to draw.”

“Now, the first thing we have to do--” he starts, but his voice catches and he breaks into several chesty coughs. “Excuse me. The first thing we have to do is banish the idea of perfection. Accurately drawing faces takes a lot of practice and time, and I don’t expect anyone here to draw the Mona Lisa on their first try.

“Instead we’re just going to focus on drawing symmetric and somewhat realistic portraits. The rest will come with time and a lot of practice.”

On the board he draws a model of a head with horizontal and vertical lines breaking it up. “Here are the basic proportions of the human face.” He breaks off to cough again. He can hear a wheeze developing in his chest but luckily he doesn’t think he’ll need to use his inhaler. “Before you start your portrait, draw this model down and work off of it. The rest is just adding details and adjusting the model to fit your subject. This is really going to be a process of trial and error, so let’s go ahead and get started. The person next you will be your partner. Each of you will spend 30 minutes modeling for the other. Alright let’s go!”

Steve puts his misery out of his head and focuses on his students for the next hour. He knows they need his full attention for this difficult subject. As expected, a lot of the veterans start off drawing familiar, symbolic shapes for the eyes, nose and mouth. Gently, Steve helps them focus on taking their time to observe the person in front of them and not just use default habits for drawing faces. With coaxing, everyone’s able to add more realistic details to their portraits, and he’s extremely pleased at the results. The class time passes quickly because Steve spends the whole time moving around between the students and answering questions. By the time class is over he’s quite frankly exhausted, but gives a friendly goodbye to everyone anyway.

He leans against his desk and closes his eyes. Now that he has a moment alone he realizes that his headache has returned in full force, and his chest is tight. He sneezes and groans afterwards. This sucks.

“Bless you.” Steve snaps his eyes open and sees Bucky hanging by the doorway, frowning at him.

“Thanks,” Steve croaks. Somewhere between all the talking he’s managed to lose his voice.

“You’re sick,” Bucky states plainly.

“Excellent deduction,” Steve replies sarcastically. “You should go to medical school.” That definitely came out snappier than he intended, but he’s exhausted and everything hurts and he kind of just wants to lie down on the floor.

Bucky seems unfazed, however, just ambles over to him. He tries to put a hand on Steve’s forehead, but Steve ducks out of the way. “I’m fine Bucky,” he sighs tiredly. “Just leave me alone.” In all honestly, he feels gross and doesn’t particularly want Bucky to see him like this.

“You’re obviously not,” Bucky disagrees. “Why did you even come in today?”

The comment pushes all the wrong buttons for Steve. “Because I have a job that people expect me to be at, Bucky,” he snaps coldly. “Because I’m not some invalid. I have _responsibilities_  and I take that seriously.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up immediately but he doesn’t look angry like Steve expects. That just manages to piss Steve off even more, and he takes a breath to tell Bucky off, but instead he doubles over in a harsh coughing fit. And fuck, this one is bad, he can’t get a breath in, his body shaking as deep, congested coughs rack out of him. He puts his hands on his knees to try and get some air in but his breath is coming in short gasps and holy _fuck_ , it’s like someone has vacuumed all the oxygen out of the room. He tries to get his breathing under control but it’s like he’s sucking air in through a minuscule straw there’s a high pitched wheeze emanating from his chest. Fuck, he needs his inhaler, but he can’t think straight, all he can think about is getting some fucking air in but his gasps are getting shorter and shorter and his head is spinning and he can’t remember where he is, all he can think is _air, need air_ , and—

Bucky’s face is suddenly in his field of vision and Bucky’s got his hands on either side of Steve’s face. “Steve,” he says firmly, “look at me.” Steve, still wheezing wildly, forces himself to meet Bucky’s gaze. “Where is your inhaler?” Bucky asks, calmly but with an edge to his voice.

Steve gestures in the general area of his desk, and all he can manage to wheeze out is “bag” before he doubles over again. Bucky disappears immediately and Steve panics at the loss of contact. But Bucky’s back in an instant, shaking his inhaler for him and pushing it to his mouth.

“Breathe in,” he instructs as he pushes down on the inhaler to release a puff of medicine. Steve complies, and does it a second time when Bucky tells him to.

Bucky guides him to sit down in a chair and Steve drops his head between his knees. His chest is still heaving but he’s getting more than little gasps of air in now, and the panic begins to slowly dissipate. As he comes to, he realizes Bucky’s got his hand on his back and is rubbing slow circles there.

After a few minutes, Steve’s breath is mostly normal and he looks up at Bucky. “Thanks,” he rasps, wiping some beads of sweat off his forehead. “That was scary as shit.”

“You can say that again,” Bucky agrees somberly. He doesn’t move his hand from Steve’s back. “Are you ok?”

Steve nods. “I’ll have to do my nebulizer later but I’m ok for now.”

Bucky bites his lip. “Are you gonna go back to work?”

“No,” Steve sighs in resignation. “Think I’m just gonna catch the bus home and call out.”

“Let me give you a ride,” Bucky says, frowning. “It’s raining.”

Steve wavers. Normally he’d refuse, but after that asthma attack he really is exhausted and a ride home in a warm, dry car sounds heavenly. “Are you sure?” he questions, trying to gauge Bucky’s expression.

“Absolutely,” Bucky says firmly. “C’mon, I’m just around back.”

Bucky leads him to a small gray sedan in the parking lot behind the VA. He holds Steve’s door for him and the gesture makes Steve feel flustered. Usually he hates people doting on him but somehow with Bucky it feels…nice.

They’re mostly quiet on the drive over, rain drumming on the roof. “Becca had asthma as a kid,” Bucky says suddenly, his eyes still focused on the road. “Her attacks were almost as bad as that. Always scared me to death.”

Steve isn’t sure how to respond to that. He feels terrible that he probably brought up some bad memories for Bucky. “I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs finally. “It’s a scary thing.”

“Yeah, which is why you should have kept your ass in bed,” Bucky gives him a pointed look.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I can’t just lay around in bed all day,” he says. He hesitates, then adds, “That’s what I had to do as a kid. I missed so much school because I was too sick to go. I hated it, not being able to do what everyone else could. I guess I don’t want to be that kid anymore.”

Bucky hums and slows down to stop at a stoplight. “It’s ok to be human, Steve,” he turns and holds Steve’s gaze. “You don’t have to be Mr. Tough Guy all the time.”

Steve has a small coughing fit to avoid answering Bucky.

They reach Steve’s apartment building in a few minutes, and despite Steve’s numerous protests, Bucky walks him to his door. “Are you going to be ok by yourself?” Bucky wavers, hovering by Steve as he fumbles with his keys. “You’re still not looking too good.”

“Bucky, I’ll be fine, stop worrying,” Steve insists, as he gets his door open. “I’m just gonna lay down and watch old movies.”

He bends down to pick up some mail from his doormat, but he must stand up too quickly, because all of a sudden his vision is going spotty at the corners. He presses a hand to his pounding head, swaying a little. Black starts taking over his vision and he reaches blindly for the doorframe…

Before he’s entirely sure what’s happening, Bucky’s got him in his arms bridal style and is striding into the apartment. “Fine my ass,” Bucky’s muttering, and he brings Steve to the couch, bending down and gently depositing him there.

Bucky crouches down so he’s level with Steve and presses a cool hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up,” he frowns. Steve tries to sit up but Bucky just pushes him back down. “You just almost fainted. You’re not going anywhere, punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve mutters but his tone is fond. Bucky brushes a little hair out of Steve’s eyes and his cheeks heat up, but he blames it on the fever.

“Alright, I’m getting you medicine and tea,” Bucky decides. He pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and gently tucks it around Steve. “If you get up I’ll kill you,” he points a finger at Steve threateningly.

“This is my house,” Steve complains but doesn’t attempt to move. He’s honestly too tired to get up.

“And you’re a pain in the ass when you’re sick, apparently,” Bucky retorts. “Hang tight, ok? I’ll be right back.”

Steve nods and lets his eyes drift closed as he hears the sounds of Bucky rustling around his apartment, setting the kettle and going through his medicine cabinet. He supposes he should be worried about Bucky rummaging around his apartment when he’s barely conscious, but he can’t muster up much concern at the moment.

When he drags his eyes open again, it’s to Bucky crouching beside him, his face only inches from Steve’s. “Your eyes…are like moonlight,” Steve murmurs dazedly. His thoughts are slow and thick, like someone poured molasses all over his brain.

Bucky laughs, but presses his hand back to Steve’s forehead. “Think your fever’s going up,” he says. “Let’s get you sitting up a little.” He helps Steve maneuver to a sitting position with a strong arm gripping his back.

Steve covers a few rattling coughs after the change in position. Bucky presses a cup of warm tea into his hand. “Here, this’ll help,” he soothes. “It’s got honey in it.”

Steve drinks the tea and it does feel wonderful on his throat, the honey quieting the burning. “Thanks,” he croaks. “You’re delicious. No, I mean, it’s delicious.” Steve is confused. “My brain isn’t working right,” he explains sadly.

Bucky find this hilarious for some reason and laughs again. “It’s okay, Stevie. You’re sick,” he says gently. “Just finish your tea and then I have some Tylenol for you.”

Steve nods and focuses on drinking the tea. When he finishes, Bucky presses two pills into his palm and brings him a glass of water. “Good,” Bucky approves when he obediently swallows the medication. “That’ll bring your fever down. Do you want to get in bed?”

Steve nods slowly, and tries to get up. But he ends up getting tangled in his blanket and nearly topples to the floor until Bucky catches him.

“Think I’ll just carry you,” Bucky decides, and hoists Steve up into his arms, blankets and all. Steve peers up at his face while Bucky carries him to the bedroom. He’s so beautiful from this angle—any angle, really—Steve can count the eyelashes fanning around his eyes and wants to run his hand along that stubbled jawline.

Bucky pulls back the covers and lays Steve down on the bed. He kneels and gently pulls off Steve’s shoes for him. “Do you want to change?” Bucky asks softly, glancing up at Steve. Steve could swear he’s blushing a little.

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “Body’s too heavy.”

“Okay,” Bucky chuckles, and stands up to tuck the covers back around Steve. He runs a hand through Steve’s hair softly and Steve shivers—from the touch or fever he’s not sure. “I’m going to let you sleep,” Bucky murmurs. “Feel better, Stevie.” He turns to head out the door, but Steve weakly grabs his wrist.

“Stay. Please. Don’t wanna be alone,” he croaks. Somewhere, the non-fevered part of his brain is telling him he’s being clingy and ridiculous, but all he knows is that Bucky leaving sounds like the worst thing in the world right now.

Bucky hesitates, and then sits down on the edge of the bed. “You need to sleep,” he says, conflicted.

“’S better with you,” Steve mumbles, then curls into a ball as he coughs painfully again.

Bucky stands, and Steve’s heart drops, sure that he’s leaving. But then Bucky sits back down on the bed and hands Steve his inhaler. “You’re wheezing again,” he notes, and watches while Steve takes the medication.

Next thing he knows, Bucky’s taking off his shoes and climbing into bed next to Steve. They’re not touching but Steve can feel the heat of his body next to his, and that minty scent of his shampoo. He rolls on his side so they’re face to face.

“Try and get some sleep,” Bucky whispers, and then, ever so slowly, he reaches his hand out and brushes his thumb down the side of Steve’s face. “You need to get better.”

Steve feels like he’s tingling from head to toe. Bucky’s lips are close, so close. For one split second Steve considers bridging the gap and pressing his lips to Bucky’s, but then he remembers he’s sick and gross and can’t infect beautiful Bucky whose eyes are like moonlight.

So instead he closes his eyes and settles into his pillow, listening to the even sound of Bucky’s breathing beside him. The rhythmic sound quickly has him lulling off. Just before he drops off, he thinks he feels a press of lips to his forehead, but he’s asleep too quickly to figure it out.

++

 

When Steve wakes up later, it’s early evening and his room is filled with the purple-pink hues of the setting sun. He quickly realizes two things: One, he needs to feed his dog; and two, there is a warm body pressed up against his back and two arms wrapped around his middle.

For a brief second he panics, wondering if some serial killer had managed to break into his apartment Criminal Minds-style and is holding him hostage. But then fever-hazy memories of Bucky making him tea and carrying him to bed come back to him. And oh god, had he _begged_  Bucky to stay with him? Steve is mortified.

But Bucky’s breath is hot and comforting on the back of his neck, and Steve feels so safe, somehow, in the expanse of his arms. His feet have ended up buried between Bucky’s shins and they’re warm instead of their usual ice cold. He can tell by how deeply Bucky’s breathing that he’s asleep. He must have accidently started cuddling Steve when he fell asleep, Steve realizes. He’s probably dreaming about some beautiful ex-girlfriend or something.

Not wanting Bucky to wake up and be embarrassed, Steve tries to gently maneuver his way out of Bucky’s grasp. But Bucky just tightens his grip, making mumbled sleep noises against Steve’s neck. His arms are muscled and thick, but wonderfully soft at the same time. Steve lets himself relax into Bucky’s arms. He supposes it wouldn’t hurt to just lay here for a few minutes. Bucky’s probably tired, after all.

Steve’s just dozing off when his body decides to betray him and he involuntarily starts coughing. He tries to muffle the sound in a pillow but Bucky immediately stirs beside him, unwrapping his arms from around Steve. Steve misses the feeling immediately.

“Steve?” Bucky mumbles sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. He pulls away the pillow when he sees Steve coughing into it. “Jesus, don’t suffocate yourself.”

He hands Steve a glass of water from the beside table and pats him firmly on the back until the fit subsides. “Alright?” he asks gently once Steve has his breath back.

“Yeah,” Steve lays back against the pillow. The setting sun is lighting Bucky from behind, making all his features soft and shadowy. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?” Buck murmurs, testing Steve’s forehead with his wrist. “I think your fever is better.”

“Yeah, I feel better,” Steve says, and makes to get out of bed. Bucky stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” he frowns.

“I need to feed Cookie—uh, my dog,” Steve explains.

“So let me do it,” Bucky says. “You’re still sick.”

Steve blushes deeply. He’s so embarrassed that he forced Bucky to play nursemaid for him and here he is still trying to take care of Steve. “No it’s fine. You don’t have to stay, I’m so sorry I asked you to. I’ll be ok. ”

Bucky drops his hand from Steve’s shoulder. He looks confused. “Oh,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “You want me to go?”

Something about this conversation is not going the way Steve intended, because now Bucky almost looks _hurt_. He backtracks a little. “No, I mean, it was really nice of you. I just was kind of out of it, I wouldn’t have forced you to stay otherwise.”

“You didn’t force me to stay,” Bucky frowns. “I wanted to.”

Steve’s stomach does a little somersault, like he missed a step climbing stairs. “Oh, um, ok,” he stutters. _Smooth, Rogers_.

“I’ll feed Cookie,” Bucky assures him. “Stay here.”

Steve nods, warmth blooming in his chest. No one, besides his Ma maybe, has ever been this caring of him when he’s sick. Half of him wants to enjoy it, the other half feels completely undeserving.

Bucky disappears for a little while and Steve pulls the covers back up around himself, flipping on the TV. _The Sound of Music_ is playing and he settles into bed, enjoying the familiar movie. Bucky returns eventually, this time carrying a steaming bowl of soup.

“I think you should eat something,” he says, placing the bowl on the bedside table.

“Oh wow, um thank you Bucky,” Steve says, floored.

Bucky shrugs and stays standing at Steve’s beside awkwardly, apparently unsure if he should go.

Steve gestures to the TV. “Do you like _The Sound of Music?_ ”

Bucky nods and Steve scoots over so there’s room on the bed. He pats the spot next to him when Bucky doesn’t budge. “Join me. I mean, if you want to,” he adds, unsure.

Bucky smiles and climbs onto the bed next to Steve, sitting up against the headboard. He reaches over and hands Steve the bowl of soup. “I’m serious about you eating,” he cautions. “You’re so tiny already.”

“I’m not tiny,” Steve huffs, but he takes a sip of soup anyway. It’s thick and comforting, the warmth soothing his throat. He doesn’t even know how Bucky found the soup, he  
swears he only had one can buried in the back of his kitchen cupboard somewhere.

“Thanks for all this,” he turns to look at Bucky after a few minutes. Bucky draws his eyes away from the movie and meets Steve’s. The way he looks at Steve with his undivided attention, like Steve is the only person that matters in the world, makes Steve’s heart hammer. “Seriously, it means a lot.”

Bucky waves him off. “All I did was give you some medicine and make you soup. It’s not hard.”

“Well it’s more than I would’ve done on my own,” Steve counters.

“That’s because you suck at taking care of yourself,” Bucky smirks. “It’s pretty obvious.”

“Not true! I’m a fully capable adult who can get by on his own,” Steve protests, even though Bucky is 100% right.

Bucky just raises his eyebrow knowingly. “Okay, Stevie,” he placates. When did he start calling Steve by that nickname? Steve kind of wants him to never call him anything else again. “Just save your voice for now, alright?”

Steve grumbles but doesn’t say anything further. They both get absorbed in the movie again, and watch the whole thing until it’s late and dark outside.

Steve picks his head up from where it had fallen against Bucky’s shoulder. “I guess we should call it a night,” he says, even though he wouldn’t care if Bucky stayed in his bed for the next century.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. He climbs out of bed and starts pulling his shoes on. “This was nice. I mean, not nice that you’re sick, but uh…well, anyway you know what I mean,” he rambles.

Steve smiles at him from the bed. “Yeah it was nice,” he says softly.

Bucky hovers by the bedside. “Do you need anything else?” he frowns worriedly, glancing around the room. He tests Steve’s fever one more time. “I think you should be ok now.”

“I’m fine, Bucky,” Steve assures. His eyelids are already starting to feel heavy. “Thank you.”

“Alright,” Bucky murmurs quietly. “Feel better, Stevie.” He pauses, and then quickly scribbles something on a post-it. “Here’s my number if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbles with his eyes closed. “Gonna booty-call you.”

Bucky chuckles and smooths down the covers. “You do that,” he whispers.

A few seconds later, the front door clicks and Bucky is gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to everyone! As always, thank you so much for the kudos and comments, it means so much to me <3 
> 
> I didn't have a lot of time to edit this chapter so apologies for any mistakes. Hopefully you'll still enjoy it!

Steve spends most of the rest of the week in bed drinking copious amounts of tea and generally feeling sorry for himself. But by Friday he’s mostly recovered from the worst of his illness, save a slight lingering cough. He feels bad for having missed a full week of work, but luckily his manager is very generous with his amount of sick days.

The pink post-it note with Bucky’s number scrawled on it is still stuck to Steve’s bedside table. Any time he’s in his room he finds his eyes drifting toward it. Once he even picked up his phone and was halfway to dialing Bucky’s number before he chickened out. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to Bucky, but maybe Bucky had just left his number because he was taking pity on Steve. He probably thought Steve didn’t have anyone else to call and left his number in case Steve ended up on the brink of death or something. Plus, after waking up in Bucky’s arms, there’s no denying that Steve’s feelings are definitely not-platonic toward Bucky and he’s doesn’t want to further delude himself. Bucky likes him as a friend, nothing more. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, it’s only going to end in yet another very painful broken heart.

Despite of his efforts to restrain his feelings for Bucky, Steve can’t stop his heart from fluttering in excitement as he walks into the VA next Monday. It feels like it’s been centuries, not a week, since he last got to see Bucky.

Sam drops by the studio as Steve is setting up, lounging against the door in his usual fashion.

“How ya feelin’, buddy?” Sam asks. He had dropped by Steve’s apartment several times last week, brining him soup and medicine.

“Much better,” Steve answers gratefully. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime,” Sam waves away. “So, Nat gave me some gossip that I’m _definitely_ gonna need you to confirm or deny.”

Steve straightens up warily. “What?”

“Word is, your favorite sexy student—what’s his name, anyway?—drove you home last week and _you slept with him_!” Sam makes a scandalized expression. “How dare you withhold this crucial information from me!”

Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with him. Well, I did, but just _sleep_ , as in I-had-a-fever-and-passed-out kind of way. And I’m not telling you his name, student confidentiality, remember?”

“Was there cuddling involved?”

“That’s none of your business,” Steve scolds.

“So that’s definitely a yes. Are you a big spoon or little spoon? I mean, height would indicate little, but you have such a complex about being short I wouldn’t be surprised if you like to establish dominance,” Sam smirks.

“I do not have a complex,” Steve objects. “And I’m also not participating in this conversation any longer.”

“I’m definitely going to discuss this with Nat. These are the questions that haunt me, Stevie.”

“Don’t you have actual patients to psychoanalyze somewhere? Because I have an actual art class to teach.”

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” Sam concedes. He points a finger at Steve knowingly. “You’re a little spoon but will never admit to it. I’ve got you figured out, man.”

“Right.”

“And we’re hanging out soon!” Sam calls out over his shoulder as he leaves. “Been too long since we’ve all got together.”

“Okay,” Steve calls back, and shakes his head to himself as Sam leaves. His friends are ridiculous.

At 8:50 Bucky walks in, the first student to arrive. Steve’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him and he can’t stop his eyes from grazing over Bucky’s body. He’s wearing a black motorcycle jacket that is clinging to his defined biceps, loosely hanging open over a black t-shirt. Silver dog tags are dangling from Bucky’s neck and he’s got a pair of ripped jeans on that Steve’s pretty sure would perfectly frame his ass if he turned around. And to make it all worse, Bucky’s got his hair swept up in another gorgeous messy bun. His gaze is as disarming as usual, focused intently on Steve.

Steve swallows thickly. “Hey, Bucky,” he says, aiming for casual but his voice is too high.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky grins and _fuck that’s even worse_ , and Steve goes a little weak at the knees. He leans against his desk in feigned nonchalance. “How are you feeling?” Bucky asks, frowning a little.

“All better,” Steve replies. “Sorry you had to see me like that, but thanks for taking me home and everything.” He fusses with his bangs nervously.

“I didn’t mind,” Bucky shrugs. “Seemed like you needed a friend.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, but his heart drops. Of course that’s what he is to Bucky. A friend.

“Are you getting coffee after class?” Bucky asks. “We should catch up.”

“I’ll be there,” Steve affirms, still preoccupied with Bucky’s use of the word ‘friend’.

Bucky smiles again and it’s as charming as before. “Cool,” he says, and shuffles over to his seat.

Fortunately, Steve can’t brood too much on the confirmed-straightness of Bucky because the rest of the students starting filling the classroom and he gets distracted greeting all the veterans.

“Good morning everyone. Today should be a lot of fun because we’re going to start working in color. Since we’ve been doing a lot of stuff in pencil, we’re going to stick with that medium but branch out to colored pencils. Now, a few tips for working in color.”

Steve gives a ten-minute introduction to using color, reviewing the importance of lowlights and highlights, blending, and how best to use colored pencils. Everyone is itching to get started by the time he finishes talking, so he passes out the pencils and lets everyone start on their drawings on a still life he’s set up at the front of the room.

Since they’ve worked on basic drawing skills for a while, his students take to using color easily. Steve wanders around, but most everyone is content and not struggling much, so he returns to sit at his desk. As a force of habit he pulls out his sketchbook and thumbs through the pages absentmindedly.

He pauses flipping when he comes upon the sketch of Bucky he did a couple weeks ago. It’s definitely a good drawing; he’d gotten all the essential elements of Bucky’s face down more or less correctly. But it’s still lacking all the emotion, all the character that Steve has come to appreciate in Bucky.

Steve looks up and gazes over at Bucky. As usual, he’s focused intently on his art, a barely-there crease in between his eyebrows. His hand movements are fluid but decisive, such that Steve can tell his drawing will be unapologetic. He’s leaning forward a little in his chair so that his dog tags are hanging loosely from his neck. Some of his hair has fallen out of his bun and every so often Bucky will push it away from his face in distracted annoyance.

And suddenly, it’s not a choice whether Steve will draw him again. He’s flipping to a blank page and sketching the lines of Bucky’s face before he consciously realizes it. Because he knows what he missed last time. He missed this burning mess of emotions that are swirling around inside of him. Art’s as much about the artist as it is the subject. Steve had been afraid of acknowledging those feelings before, but now he’s aching to let them out, to give them life on the paper. There’s nothing slow or methodical about his sketching now, just his hand flying over the paper and Bucky—complicated, beautiful Bucky—on his mind. He draws with a frenzy he hasn’t experienced in years, it’s almost as if he slows down he’ll miss everything, miss this fragile moment in time where he sees Bucky, really sees him.

He’s almost panting with effort by the time he finishes shading the last corner of Bucky’s portrait. He closes his eyes for a moment, lets out a deep breath, and then opens them again. And _oh_ , this is Bucky, the real Bucky that Steve can feel even through the paper. The drawing bursts with energy due to Steve’s quick, definitive lines, but there’s also an element of peace to it—the same peace that Steve feels whenever he’s around Bucky. The focus of the portrait is Bucky’s eyes, which Steve had spent the most time on, and the striking, luminous quality of them is evident even in the gray of the pencil. His hair sweeps back into a bun in a mess of flowing, soft lines. Half of his face is darkened by shadow due to the sunlight highlighting the other side of his face and it adds an element of mystery to the portrait. The portrait isn’t polished or perfectly composed, but it feels so very _real_  to Steve that he’s taken aback. He hasn’t drawn anything like this since…

Since before his Ma died. He hasn’t drawn like this for three years. He’d thought it was gone, Steve realizes, this passionate, bursting energy. Sure, he’d enjoyed his art and still sketched, but nothing had flowed out of him like this. Nothing had awoken this urgent, almost primal need to draw in him for years.

Steve is simultaneously exhilarated and wary. Exhilarated because he now realizes how much he had missed this sense of being one with his artwork. It feels like the true expression of himself when he’s able to draw like this, like his emotions and his art are one and the same. Wary, because now that he’s got his artistic energy back, he’s immediately afraid of losing it. It’s a fickle thing, this drive, and he knows it could leave at any moment.

He suddenly registers that several of his students are looking up at him curiously. He checks his watch hastily—it’s past time for class to be over. He snaps his sketchbook shut and stands to dismiss class.

“Good job everyone,” he says slightly breathlessly. “Please bring your materials back up front and I will see you all next week.”

Bucky hovers by his desk as the veterans pack up and leave. “What were you drawing?” Bucky asks, once it’s just the two of them left. “You seemed super into it.”

“Oh, nothing,” Steve lies, averting his gaze and trying to will away a blush. “La Vida Mocha?”

Bucky nods and thankfully, doesn’t press the subject.

++

“So why are you vegan?” Bucky gestures to Steve’s coffee cup once they’re sat at their table in La Vida Mocha. “I don’t peg you as the type to pay an extra sixty cents for almond milk easily.”

“I definitely was raised counting pennies,” Steve assures. “Nah, it’s an easy choice to be vegan.”

Bucky looks surprised. “Really? Why?”

Steve’s immediately on the defense. “Because I don’t agree with the modern factoring farming industry, Bucky. It’s cruel, inhumane, and it’s appalling that it’s even legal in this day in age. I believe animals should not be tortured and made to live in squalor just so we can enjoy a steak. We’re the most intelligent species on this planet and yet we can’t understand the brute suffering that our food system is causing to innocent creatures? It just makes no sense. Plus, do you know how much greenhouse gas the whole factory farming industry creates?”

“I don’t, but I’m sure you do,” Bucky’s grinning and that immediately pisses Steve off because he doesn’t appreciate not being taken seriously, and he’s about to open his mouth to further his rant when Bucky interrupts. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“I—what?” Steve stutters, climate change statistics still swirling in his head.

“You’re incredible,” Bucky repeats. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you, Steve Rogers.”

Now that he’s not ranting about veganism, Steve is at a loss for words. “Well, uh, thanks I guess?”

Bucky hums and takes a sip of his coffee. “You also have the shortest fuse of anyone I’ve met,” he smirks cheekily at Steve.

“I do not have a—,” Steve starts to argue but then realizes he’s only proving Bucky’s point. “That’s not true,” he grumbles into his cup instead.

Bucky laughs and it’s a free, easy sort of laugh that makes Steve happy just hearing it. “Incredible,” Bucky repeats fondly, and suddenly it sounds like the highest praise in the world.

“Well, you’re not too bad yourself,” Steve admits. “You like art and classic movies, so I can’t hate you too much.”

“Yeah, that was fun, watching movies with you,” Bucky reminisces.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I was coughing my lungs out the whole time, Bucky.”

“Yeah, well, I still enjoyed it,” Bucky shrugs. “We should do it again sometime.” He tucks some hair behind his ear. “I mean, if you want.”

“I, oh—really?” Steve stumbles. “Yeah, that would be awesome.”

“Cool,” Bucky looks pleased. “You should come over to my place, I have this huge flatscreen that my family gave me and I never use it.”

“Sounds perfect,” Steve tries to look more relaxed than he feels. His heart rate has basically doubled. “How about Friday night?”

“You’re on,” Bucky grins. “Bring the best classics you got.”

“That definitely won’t be a problem,” Steve reassures. “My collection’s huge.”

Bucky pulls a napkin toward him and scrawls on it. He pushes it toward Steve. “That’s my address. Let’s say 7:00?”

Steve nods and Bucky stands from the table. “I actually have to run to a doctor’s appointment, but see you Friday,” Bucky says.

“See you Friday,” Steve echoes distantly and Bucky disappears out the front door.

“Oh my god,” he mutters to himself once Bucky’s gone. Why does this suddenly feel suspiciously like a date? Bucky had clearly called him his ‘friend’ earlier. But then he seemed so eager to do a movie night with Steve. Was that normal for two guy friends? He tries to remember back to when he and Nat and Sam first started hanging out. Was it like this?

He picks up his phone and hits Natasha’s contact button.

“Steve, you know I’m working,” Natasha chastises when she answers. “If my patient dies because I left them alone on the arm bike I’m blaming you.”

“Nat, this is important,” Steve hisses urgently. “Ok, so remember hot art student guy?”

“The one that you’re oh so not in love with? I seem to recall a face,” Natasha drawls.

“So he invited me over to watch movies this Friday at his house. Just the two of us, and even though I was all sick and disgusting last time he saw me.”

“Ooh,” Natasha exclaims. “Stevie, do you have a _date_?”

“I don’t know!” Steve laments. “I mean, he didn’t say the word ‘date’ or anything.”

“But was there, like, a date-y feeling to the conversation?”

“What the fuck is a date-y feeling?” Steve asks, exasperated.

“I mean, there’s like, ‘bro, let’s watch movies, bro,’ and there’s ‘hey gorgeous, let’s snuggle and make out while pretending to watch movies,’” she elaborates. “Which one was it?’

“You are so not helping,” Steve moans. “I don’t know! How am I supposed to go on a date if I don’t even know if it’s a date?”

“It’s the 21st century, Steve. No one says the word ‘date’ anymore. You have to read between the lines,” Natasha explains.

“I’m so screwed,” Steve drops his head down to the table. “This is a disaster.”

Natasha sighs lightly and softens her tone. “You’ll be fine. Just relax and wear one of those cute oversized sweaters. He won’t be able to resist you in that.”

“Your wisdom is endless,” Steve replies sarcastically. “Alright, go back to your patients, Nat.”

“Oversized sweaters, Stevie,” Natasha repeats. “Trust me.”

Steve rolls his eyes and hangs up. He’s pretty sure he’s going to die of anxiety before Friday.

++

Work distracts Steve enough that he makes it to Friday without spontaneously combusting (although he does call Nat several more times in various states of panic). Since he hasn’t seen Bucky since Monday he’s none the wiser as to whether this is indeed a date or just a friendly hangout.

Dressing for the ambiguous movie night is the worst part. He wants to keep it casual, but then he’s afraid if he goes _too_ casual, Bucky will think he’s a slob. But then again, if he looks nicer than usual, Bucky might think Steve has gotten the wrong idea about what they are (what are they?) and that’ll make everything awkward.

Steve sprawls out on his bed in frustration. Practically the entire contents of his closet are flung out across the bed. Cookie gives a sympathetic whine from her nest in a pile of t-shirts.

“Maybe I should just stay in, hmm Cookie? Have a nice little night with you?” he murmurs, scratching her behind the ears. “You don’t care what I look like.”

Cookie peers up at him with round eyes, giving him a dubious sort of look. He groans. “I know, I know, I’ll go.”

He stands up again, he’s only got ten minutes until his Uber gets here so he’s got to figure this out.

“Oversized sweater,” he mutters, sorting through what’s left of his closet. “Aha!”

He pulls out a large cream-colored cable knit sweater and tugs it on, ambling over to the mirror to check the result. The sweater is definitely oversized, the hemline falls more than halfway down his thighs, but it’s also ridiculously soft and cozy. He cocks his head to the side in consideration. It’s a nice contrast to the blue of his skinny jeans and it has the effect of making Steve seem a little more…cute (not that he’ll admit that to anyone, ever). He takes a picture of his reflection and texts it to the group chat he has with Nat and Sam.

 **Steve** : Does this say ‘I’m totally here to just hang out but I’m also down to make out for two hours if it crosses your mind?’

 **Natasha** : Omg you’re adorable!! Good job following my excellent advice

 **Steve:** Don’t call me adorable.

 **Sam** : Dude that sweater makes you look like a miniature marshmallow

 **Natasha** : Sam!

 **Steve** : .....

 **Sam** : What?? It’s a good thing! I love it when chicks wear those giant ass sweaters

 **Sam** : Maximum cuddling material

 **Natasha:** Told you, Steve

 **Steve** : I’m rolling my eyes at both of you.

 **Sam** : Can we know his name yet or should we keep referring to him as Hot Art Guy?

 **Natasha** : Works for me

 **Steve** : I can’t tell you guys his name until he’s not my student anymore

 **Sam** : This is totally one of those illicit student-teacher relationships. Haaawwt

 **Natasha** : Try to brush his hand seductively when you reach for the popcorn

 **Steve** : Have you been watching rom-coms with Clint again?

 **Natasha** : It’s not my fault he forces me to watch them

 **Sam** : Maybe he’ll do that thing where he yawns and puts his arm around you. Classic move

 **Steve** : THIS IS NOT HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL

 **Steve** : We are two adults having an adult evening together

 **Steve** : Wait…

 **Sam** : AN ADULT EVENING

 **Natasha** : DOING ADULT THINGS

 **Steve** : Omg

 **Natasha:** Please tell us more about these adult activities Steve

 **Sam** : In graphic detail

 **Steve** : My Uber is here

 **Sam** : Likely story

 **Natasha:** Have fun on your “adult” evening

 **Sam** : Yeah we expect you to have a good time on your “activities”

 **Steve** : Hate you

++

Bucky answers the door almost immediately after Steve knocks in ushers him in out the frigid evening air. His apartment is a lot bigger than Steve’s but sparsely furnished. The only pieces of furniture in the living room are a cushy looking L-shaped couch, a plain coffee table, and a flatscreen TV. At the back of the room are double glass doors leading to what looks like a small terrace.

“Well, make yourself at home,” Bucky says, gesturing to the apartment as Steve hangs up his coat. He hovers by Steve, apparently unsure what to do. “I, um, made mushroom stroganoff, if you want some? It’s vegan.”

“Really?” Steve’s surprised. He hadn’t expected Bucky to make dinner.

“Yeah,” Bucky shifts his weight from foot to foot. Steve hasn’t seen Bucky this nervous since maybe the first day of class. That seems to put this evening closer to “date” category but Steve still doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

Steve shoots Bucky a reassuring smile. “That sounds great. Which way’s the kitchen?”

Bucky leads them both to his kitchen, which in contrast to the living room is well stocked with a variety of stainless steel cookware and assorted appliances. “I like to cook,” Bucky says by way of explanation, noting Steve’s curiosity. “The vegan stroganoff was a challenge but I pulled through in the end.”

Steve’s oddly touched at the idea of Bucky going to all this extra effort to make something he could eat. “Thanks, Buck. That’s really nice.”

Bucky shrugs and busies himself dishing up two bowls of food. Steve looks around some more in the meantime. There’s only one picture taped to the fridge, a happy-looking group of brown haired people that Steve assumes is Bucky’s family.

“Do you want wine or anything?” Bucky asks as he hands Steve a bowl and they both settle onto stools at the island.

Steve shakes his head. “No, I’d be on the floor by the first glass.”

Bucky laughs heartily at that, and the awkwardness in the room melts away. “That’s good because I don’t have wine anyway. I don’t drink.”

Steve punches him lightly in the arm. “What if I had said yes, jerk?”

“Guess I would have had to distract you with my charm, punk” Bucky gives an exaggerated wink.

“Oh is that so?” Steve smirks, but his stomach is swirling with butterflies. This almost feels like they’re flirting. “Who says your charm would work on me?”

Bucky grins smugly. “My charm always works. Got you over here didn’t I?”

“Only for the free food,” Steve retorts, and takes a bite of the pasta. He closes his eyes and lets out a satisfied moan. “Oh my god Bucky, this is incredible.”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately so Steve opens his eyes, and Bucky’s gaze flicks up. Had he been staring at Steve’s lips? “Told you I was an excellent cook,” Bucky answers cockily, but his cheeks are slightly pink. “Nothing like some Russian food to put meat on those bones.”

“You sound like my Ma,” Steve retorts. “If she wasn’t scolding me for getting in fights, she was forcing me to eat.”

“Sounds like she knew exactly how to handle you,” Bucky chews contemplatively, swallows. “What was she like? I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

“Nah, I love talking about her. Yeah, she was…god, she was an amazing woman. She had so much on her plate—barely enough money, a chronically ill son, no family support—but she never complained. She always found a way to make it work, and she was so strong even when things were really bleak. She made me feel like I was the most special person in the world, and I never went a day wondering if she loved me. I just knew it,” Steve stares into the distance. “I miss her everyday.”

Bucky gently places his hand over Steve’s on the counter, and the warmth of it feels like it’s spreading through Steve’s whole body. He turns to look at Bucky. Bucky’s gazing at Steve in that focused way of his, not like when he’s drawing, which is more of a hard intensity, but in a soft, open way. His eyes are a dazzling cerulean in the kitchen lights, and Steve can’t look away.

“I wish I could have met her,” Bucky murmurs. “She meant so much to you.”

“Yeah,” Steve exhales, but then it’s all too intense suddenly, Bucky’s unbroken gaze, the weight of his grief for his mom. He looks away, shaking his head slightly to clear it. “Want to see what movies I brought?” he asks, and hops off his stool before Bucky can answer.

If Bucky finds the abrupt change of subject awkward, he doesn’t mention it, just follows Steve out to the living room. Steve pulls a stack of movies from his backpack and spreads them out on the coffee table.

“So we have: _Some Like It Hot, A Streetcar Named Desire, King Kong, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Bringing Up Baby, The Maltese Falcon, Casablanca,_ and _Gone with the Wind_ ,” Steve announces, grinning up at Bucky. “And these are just my favorites.”

Bucky lets out a low whistle. “You really weren’t kidding.”

“Definitely not,” Steve chuckles. “Any preference?”

“Would it be weird if I said _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_? I know that’s supposed to be like, a ‘chick flick’ but I’ve never seen it.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Bucky, do I look like someone who believes in gender norms to you?” He gestures toward his half-shaved head and flowery tattoos.

Bucky snorts. “Fair point.”

Steve starts fidgeting nervously when Bucky puts the movie on and they both sit down on couch. How close should he sit to Bucky? Is it weird if their legs touch?

Bucky, apparently unconcerned about seating arrangements, settles into the corner of the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table. He’s got his left arm stretched out across the back of the couch, whether purposefully or not, Steve’s not sure. Steve scoots a reasonable distance away, his shoulders just below Bucky’s outstretched arm.

Soon he’s too engrossed in the movie to worry about things being awkward, and Bucky seems to really be enjoying the film too. Occasionally he’ll sneak glances at Bucky out of the corner of his eye, but Bucky’s attention is rapt on the screen.

“Wow,” Bucky sighs once the end credits roll. “I can see why that’s a classic.”

Steve looks over at him. Bucky’s face is dimly lit with indigo shadows from the TV, the sharp cut of his jaw and the fullness of his lips emphasized. “I’m glad you liked it. I love that movie.”

Bucky nods. Steve suddenly realizes that Bucky’s arm has lowered from the back of the couch and is now resting across his shoulders comfortably. He hadn’t even noticed it happening but the warmth is wonderful, and Bucky’s moving his thumb against Steve’s shoulder every so slightly. Steve shivers slightly.

“You cold?” Bucky asks, frowning.

“No, I’m good,” Steve dismisses, and breaks his gaze to look back at the credits. It feels like every one of his senses is focused on the slow, intoxicating pattern of Bucky’s thumb on his shoulder.

“Do you like the stars?” Bucky interjects suddenly and Steve frowns in confusion.

“What?”

Bucky removes his arm to rub at the back of his neck. Steve would do anything to have him put it back. “I, um, I have a really good view? On the terrace, if you want to look at the stars.”

“Oh. Um, sure,” Steve shrugs and they get up to walk over to the doors of the terrace.

It’s bitingly cold outside and Steve immediately wraps his arms around himself as he ventures out. Bucky’s apartment is on the 11th floor of a complex, so there’s an amazing view of Seattle spread out below, the lights of the city cutting through the night in shimmering colors.

Next thing he knows there’s a pair of hands on his shoulders rubbing up and down. Steve turns to Bucky, who’s standing right behind him, so close that Steve can feel his breath on his face. “Sorry it’s so cold, we can go back,” Bucky looks down at him apologetically, as he continues rubbing Steve’s arms to warm him up. “I don’t want you to get sick again.”

Steve’s stomach is doing summersaults. He feels like he’s at the top of a rollercoaster, both exhilarated and terrified. “It’s ok,” he murmurs, still looking up at Bucky. Their height difference is obvious now they’re standing so close together, the top of his head barely reaches Bucky’s chin.

Bucky points to the sky, keeping one hand on Steve. “Look up.”

“Oh,” Steve gasps, when he takes in the night sky stretched out above them. They’re far enough near the outskirts of the city that the light pollution isn’t masking the stars, and the sky is a dazzling array of sparkling white dots.

“It’s beautiful, Bucky,” he exhales, refocusing on Bucky’s eyes, which are shimmering with starlight.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky whispers.

And then Steve lets it all go and he grabs Bucky’s shoulders and pulls him down to press his lips against Bucky’s fiercely. Bucky stands stunned for a moment but then he puts his hands on either side of Steve’s face and presses into the kiss, pulling their bodies flush against each other.

Electricity spreads through Steve’s body all the way from his lips to his toes. He can’t imagine any feeling better than this, the heat of Bucky’s lips burning against his, the hard press of Bucky’s muscles against his body.

They kiss slowly and tentatively at first, neither one of them pushing. But then Steve nips a little at Bucky’s bottom lip, which earns a pleased noise out of Bucky. Their arms pull each other closer and then Bucky moves his head to press lingering kisses along Steve’s jaw. Steve can see his own breath coming in short puffs in the night air. He moans a little, then turns his head and slots their mouths back together, relishing the heat of Bucky’s mouth on his. They stand like that, kissing furiously, arms wrapped around each other for what must be minutes, but feels far too short when Bucky finally breaks the kiss.

“We have to go inside,” Bucky whispers, stroking Steve’s hair. “It’s freezing.”

“I’m fine here,” Steve breathes, pressing their lips back together.

Bucky hoists Steve up and Steve obligingly wraps his legs firmly around Bucky’s waist and his arms around his neck, and Bucky walks them back into the apartment, both of them still kissing in earnest. Bucky stumbles back against the couch and they fall onto it, Steve straddled on top of Bucky.

The new position gives Steve leverage over Bucky and he uses it to grind his hips down firmly against Bucky’s, their growing erections pressing hard against each other’s. Bucky throws his head back and moans. “Fuck, Steve, we gotta slow down.”

Steve pauses, straightens up. “You don’t want this?”

“No, fuck, baby of course I do,” Bucky sits up, cups Steve’s face in his hands and searches his eyes. “I just want to do it right.”

Steve blushes deeply at the pet name. “Okay.”

“C’mere,” Bucky says, and pulls Steve into his lap. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve and Steve lays his head down on his shoulder, closing his eyes. Bucky rubs gentle circles on his back through the thick sweater.

“You’re so soft,” Bucky murmurs against his hair.

“It’s this fucking sweater Natasha made me wear. She said it would make me irresistible.”

A laugh rumbles out of Bucky’s chest. “I think it’s working.”

“More oversized sweaters, noted,” Steve nods.

“I always find you irresistible,” Bucky whispers into his ear and a zing of electricity courses through Steve’s spine.

“You are not helping,” Steve points a finger at Bucky accusingly. “We’re supposed to be cooling off, remember?”

Bucky sighs deeply and rests his head against the back of the couch. “You’re right. Another movie?”

“Okay, but we probably should make it _King Kong_ ,” Steve says.

Bucky puts on the movie, and when he sits back down he pulls Steve back into his lap. Steve settles into Bucky’s thick shoulder, not caring that it’s an awkward angle to see the screen. All he can think about is all the places Bucky and him are touching, and the way it had felt to have Bucky’s lips finally pressed against his.

He dozes in and out throughout the movie, content and warm in Bucky’s arms. At some point he becomes aware of Bucky pressing kisses to the side of his face. “Movie’s over Stevie,” Bucky murmurs.

“Ok,” Steve replies groggily and sits up. “What timessit?”

“Almost midnight and evidently past your bedtime.”

“I’m a grown man, I don’t have bedtime,” Steve mutters stubbornly, even though he’s obviously slurring his words.

“I’ll drive you home,” Bucky says and Steve opens his mouth to protest but Bucky kisses him swiftly before he can speak.

“Hm, I think I found a new way to shut you up,” Bucky smirks when they pull apart.

“You can’t do that every time I disagree, you know,” Steve cautions even as he knows he could never refuse Bucky kissing him.

“But it works for now,” Bucky grins, and helps Steve pack up the movies.

They’re both too tired to talk much on the drive back. Bucky insists on walking Steve up to his apartment and waits at the doorway while Steve unlocks it.

“Well, this was amazing,” Steve turns to Bucky once the door is open. And before he can think twice about it, he drags Bucky down for another lengthy kiss. Bucky gazes down at him with a slight smile when they pull apart.

“Text me? I still don’t have your number,” Bucky says, tucking some of Steve’s hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“Goodnight,” Bucky murmurs, and presses a kiss to the side of his cheek. Then he ambles off down the stairs back to his car.

Steve closes the front door and leans against it breathlessly. He might just be in love.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! We're in the end stretch :) Thank you to everyone who's been reading and encouraging me to continue, the fact that people like my mediocre writing enough to read and leave kudos means a lot to me. I know this chapter is a little shorter, but the fic will be over 40k once it's all posted so hopefully that makes up for it. 
> 
> Much love, and feel free to talk to me/send me fic ideas on tumblr @notwithouttyou

Steve is ridiculously happy. Like, belting out songs in the shower, grinning for no reason kind of happy. Last night with Bucky had been _amazing_. Steve shivers every time he thinks about the way it had felt to have Bucky’s fingers digging into his hips as he pulled Steve into that mind-blowing kiss.

Steve can hardly believe the speed and intensity of which he’s developed feelings for Bucky. Sure, he’d been attracted to him at first, but this is different. It feels like he and Bucky are more than just two people who met a few weeks ago, like maybe they just fit together, somehow.

Sighing happily, Steve rolls over in bed to check his phone. He has 23 notifications, all of them from Sam and Natasha demanding to know how the date went. He groans and quickly types out a message.

 **Steve** : You guys need to calm down.

 **Natasha:** YOU HAD SEX WITH HIM DIDN’T YOU

 **Steve:** ???? No!

 **Natasha** : Then why haven’t you answered a single one of our texts until now Stevie

 **Steve** : Because I was ASLEEP

 **Natasha** : In his bed, no doubt

 **Sam** : Hey guys I’m here

 **Natasha** : Use your therapy powers to make Steve tell us the truth

 **Steve** : I am telling the truth.

 **Steve** : But…

 **Sam:** Yessssss high five man!!

 **Natasha:** He hasn’t even told us what it is yet, Sam

 **Sam:** The ellipses mean my man here scored

 **Steve:**  Well, we kissed.

 **Steve:** And then kind of made out on the couch.

 **Natasha:** FINALLY

 **Sam:** That’s what I’m talking about!

 **Natasha:** I told you he wasn’t straight. No straight man has hair that luscious

 **Sam:** Idk I know some straight dudes with some pretty ass hair

 **Natasha:** By your standards

 **Sam:** What does that mean??

 **Steve:** Um hello can we refocus on the subject?

 **Steve:** What do I do now?

 **Natasha:** Be the charming little hipster you are

 **Sam:** What she said

 **Steve:** Do I text him?

 **Sam:** Yes

 **Natasha:** No

 **Steve:** ….

 **Sam:** He’ll want to hear from you man

 **Natasha** : No you have to make him work for it. Make him miss you for a few days

 **Sam:** That’s terrible advice and never listen to Nat

 **Steve:** So…

 **Steve:** Think I’ll figure this one out on my own.

 **Natasha:** (I’m right)

 **Sam:** All I’m gonna say is only one person here has a therapy degree

 **Steve:** Ugh you two.

++

Steve makes it a day and half staring at the sticky note with Bucky’s number on it before he gives in and texts him. He figures that waiting until Sunday is enough time that he won’t scare Bucky off by being overeager, but still shows that he’s interested. Plus, Steve just can’t physically wait any longer to hear from Bucky. He's aching to kiss him again, or even just to be near him again.

After agonizing for what to say for about half an hour, he sends a quick message: _Hey this is Steve. I had a great time the other night, see you in class tomorrow :)_  

Then he flops back on his bed and stares at ceiling. He now realizes that waiting for Bucky to text him back is actually worse than waiting to send him a text, which is totally unfair.

Cookie jumps onto the bed and lays down on top of him, whining a little. “You’re right, girl. I’ve got to distract myself,” he says, giving her a belly rub and then getting up to grab her leash. “Let’s take a walk.”

He walks Cookie, cleans all the dirty dishes in the sink, does a sketch of the skyline from his window, and makes lunch, but Bucky doesn’t text back. _Not everyone is by their phones all day_ , he reminds himself. Bucky’s probably asleep or busy doing something, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to talk to Steve. Steve decides he’ll clean the bathroom to distract himself.

The Sunday afternoon ends up becoming one of Steve’s most productive, as he scrubs down his entire apartment with increasing agitation. What is taking Bucky so long to text back? It’s been almost a whole day, after all. He can’t be _that_  busy, can he?

Dinner is a somber affair. Steve morosely munches on cereal while glaring at his phone lying silent on the table. He’s a cross between irritated and disappointed. He doesn’t know if Bucky is blowing him off or if something else just came up, but it’s still annoying that he isn’t responding.

He goes to bed frustrated, but content with the knowledge that at least he’ll see Bucky in class tomorrow.

++

It’s 9:05 and Bucky’s seat is empty.

Steve chews on his lip anxiously. He knows he needs to get started with class but he can’t help thinking if he only waits a few more minutes, Bucky will come sauntering in through that squeaky door, an apologetic grin on his face. Just like that first day.

But there’s this horrible weight sinking in Steve’s chest. Bucky’s never missed a class and he’s been coming on time since the third week. He had told Steve that this class was the best part of his week…He had told Steve a lot of things.

Steve swallows past a growing lump in his throat. Bucky will show up. He has to.

“Good morning everyone,” he says with as much brightness he can muster. “Today we’re going to start painting.”

He runs through his typical introduction to painting on autopilot. His eyes keep drifting between the wall clock in the corner and Bucky’s unoccupied seat, and his heart grows heavier with every minute that ticks by. Where is he?

Luckily painting day requires Steve’s full attention, so he’s soon absorbed in helping everyone set up their canvases and supplies correctly, and teaching the veterans how to make a color palette. Class doesn’t feel as fulfilling as it usually does, though. Steve feels like he’s acting the part but there’s no excitement behind it. It’s just not the same with Bucky not there.

Class is over before he realizes it, with absolutely no sign of Bucky. Steve says goodbye to everyone robotically, cleaning up and finally sitting down to stare out at the studio vacantly. All the happiness he felt last weekend has drained out of him and all he feels now is exhausted. And sad. Mostly just sad.

Once again he got his hopes about something he shouldn’t have. Besides this job, things never work out in Steve’s favor. He should have known that it wouldn’t last with Bucky. Bucky probably woke up on Saturday and regretted everything that had happened between them. Who did Steve think he was, thinking someone as attractive and built as Bucky would like him? He should have never have fallen for Bucky, because then he wouldn’t have to feel _this_ , this ugly, awful, feeling.

In the back of his mind he knows it’s possible that Bucky is sick or had an appointment or something. But he had seemed perfectly fine on Friday and that still wouldn’t explain why he hadn’t texted Steve back.

No, the more probable, painful conclusion is that Bucky didn’t want to see Steve. He had changed his mind, decided he didn’t want Steve and was leaving him a not-so-subtle hint to forget the whole thing. After all, hadn’t Bucky been the one telling Steve to slow down, that he didn’t want to go too far? Maybe that was because he knew that things were never going to go anywhere between them. Maybe all he wanted was one night to experiment and then go back to his normal straight life. The life that bisexual, tattooed, skinny Steve didn’t fit into.

He packs up his messenger bag. Alone, again. How it’s always been, how it’s always going to be.

++

“You’re moping.”

“No I’m not, Natasha,” Steve groans, rolling over in bed with his phone pressed to his ear. He glares up at the ceiling. “It’s been a long week, I’m resting.”

“You’re laying in bed, moping,” Natasha repeats calmly. “I know you are, don’t even pretend.”

“I’m _tired_ , ok?” Steve snaps. Normally he’d find Natasha’s persistent concern heartwarming, but right now it’s just irritating. He wants to burrow back under the covers and sleep for the next 12 hours. Which had been exactly his plan when he’d gotten home from work this Friday and crawled into bed, until Natasha called him. And called him again, and a then third time, until he finally picked up in exasperation.

“Stevie,” Natasha softens. “What’s going on with you this week? You’ve been in a terrible mood and you still haven’t explained what happened between you and Mr. Mysterious.”

“Because I don’t want to talk about it,” Steve replies curtly. “Which I thought I had made perfectly clear.”

Natasha sighs deeply. “Listen, you know neither Sam or I is going to let you hide in your apartment and not talk about whatever’s going on.”

“Well maybe you should,” Steve huffs. “I don’t always have to share every detail of my life with you two.”

“No you don’t,” Natasha affirms. “But it’s not doing you any good to shut us out.”

“What do you want me to say?” Steve bursts out, sitting up suddenly. “I got my heart broken, ok? He made me think he was interested, then changed his mind and totally disappeared. Does that make you happy to hear?”

Natasha makes a gentle noise. “No it doesn’t, Steve.”

“Well it’s the truth.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face tiredly. “Welcome to my life.”

“We’re going to fix this.” Natasha decides. She’s got that steely tone to her voice that means she’s made up her mind. And when Natasha makes up her mind, she means it.

“There’s nothing to fix, Nat. It’s over.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Tomorrow night we’re getting drinks and cleaning up this mess. You have exactly 24 hours to mope.”

“And if I said I’m not coming?”

“Has that ever worked in the past?”

Steve sighs deeply. “No.”

“Good. Sam and I’ll pick you up at six. The only requirement is that you wear pants, not whatever ratty pajamas you’ve no doubt got on now.”

“Thanks,” Steve says dryly. “Am I dismissed now?”

“For now,” Natasha says, and there’s a click as she hangs up.

Steve pulls the duvet up so it’s covering his head, blocking out the evening setting sun. He may not be able to avoid seeing his friends tomorrow but for tonight at least he can ignore the world.

++

The following evening he manages to drag himself out of bed and do the bare essentials to make him look semi-presentable. He’s still exhausted and deeply hurt, but he knows that he’s not going to be able to avoid his friends forever.

As expected, they pick him up at six and a short drive later, he, Clint, Sam, and Natasha are squeezed into their favorite booth at the neighborhood bar. Clint’s got his arm draped around Natasha’s shoulder lazily and Steve swallows thickly. Jealousy is the worst.

“I think that we all, including Steve, could use a shot tonight,” Natasha announces, summoning a waiter over. “As we say in Russia, vodka is the answer.”

“Pretty sure you just made that up,” Sam snorts.

“Doesn’t make it less true,” Natasha counters.

Steve nods his head. “Yeah, ok. I don’t think a ginger ale’s gonna cut it tonight.”

“That’s my dude,” Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Although we’re cutting you off if you start dancing on the table.”

“Yeah, because _that’s_  super likely,” Steve rolls his eyes. The round of vodka shots arrives at the table and they all pick up their glasses and clink them together.

“To bros before hoes,” Clint announces, and they all down the clear liquid in one gulp. Steve coughs a little as the vodka burns down his throat.

He’d expected Natasha to start grilling him right away, but she seems to recognize that Steve doesn’t want to jump right into talking about it. Instead, the conversation turns to everyone’s week at work, Clint and Sam sharing laugh about a patient who had been driving them both crazy.

Steve sips on a second shot as he silently watches them. The alcohol is definitely starting to take effect, as a warm, hazy feeling coats the aching in his chest. As much as it had been a shit week, he’s still happy to be here with the three of them, remembering that he’s not completely alone in the world. Sometimes he gets so caught up in all the people who’ve left him that he doesn’t remember the ones who are still standing by him.

“So that’s when I said, alright, go ahead and insert your own catheter,” Clint finishes some story that Steve had only been half-listening to, and Sam and Natasha explode with laughter.

“Oh man, that’s great,” Sam chuckles, wiping away a tear. “Gotta take some pointers from you on how to handle my difficult patients.”

“I don’t envy having to do therapy all day,” Clint shakes his head. “Now that’s some tough shit.”

Sam shrugs. “It is, but it’s also nice getting to know people, y’know? To hear what’s really happening in their lives.”

“Deep,” Natasha chimes in, taking a sip of her drink. “Whereas, as a physical therapist, I just force people to work out all day.”

“Never go to the gym with Nat,” Clint cautions. “She had me doing some crazy ass circuit last time that I still haven’t fully recovered from.”

“Oh I learned not to work out with her a long time ago,” Sam says. “Death by treadmill.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Can’t blame me for trying to get you guys in shape.”

“Steve, remember that time she tried to make us train with her for that 5k?” Sam turns to him.

Steve snorts. “That was a disaster. What did that last, a day?”

“Something like that,” Sam chuckles. “Although you definitely gave it more of a shot than I did.”

“Yeah, until I ended up in Urgent Care,” Steve shakes his head. “What a day.”

“I’m sorry if I ever pushed you too hard,” Natasha says, suddenly serious. “I know I’ve asked you to do some crazy things.”

Steve reaches over and squeezes her hand. “It’s fine, Nat. I’m the hard-headed one, remember?”

Natasha nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“So are we ever going to talk about this mystery man?” Clint interrupts loudly, clearly tipsy. “I was told we had a crisis to sort out.”

“Don’t feel pressured,” Sam adds. “We only have to talk about it if you want.”

Steve downs the rest of his drink and stares down at the empty glass pensively. He’s definitely going to be hungover tomorrow, but the alcohol has dulled the heartbreak enough that he can face it.

“It’s just, everything was so great that one night. Like, when we kissed it was…amazing.” Steve fiddles with a napkin on the table. “But then he just totally disappeared. I’ve texted him five separate times this week, nothing. He didn’t show up for class Monday either and he’s _always_  in class. So, basically, he never wants to see me again. I don’t know why I even got my hopes up.”

“That’s bullshit,” Clint announces.

“Maybe something happened?” Sam postulates. “Like, he had to go somewhere or something. From everything you’ve said, it sounds like he liked you, man.”

“I saw the way he was looking at you in class,” Natasha shakes her head. “That guy was head-over-heels. There’s got to be another explanation.”

“Then why wouldn’t he text me back? Or at least show up for class? Or, I don’t know, send a fucking smoke signal?!” Steve runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “The only explanation is that he’s not interested.”

“I’m going to find him and give him a piece of my mind,” Natasha says darkly.

“I just thought it was more when I shouldn’t have,” Steve shakes his head sadly. “It’s my fault. I knew Bucky was hotter th—shit, I wasn’t supposed to say his name!” Steve claps a hand over his mouth. “Forget I said that.”

A glass slams down on the table and everyone turns to Sam curiously. He’s staring a Steve with wide eyes. “Wait, his name is _Bucky_? As in, Bucky Barnes?”

“Yes…?” Steve answers slowly. “But I’m not supposed to tell you my students’ names.”

“Bucky’s my patient!” Sam exclaims. “Oh man, this makes so much sense. _You’re_  the blonde he’s been talking about!”

“He’s been talking about me?” Steve’s mouth gapes open.

“Yes, all the damn time, man. I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together.”

“Well, this doesn’t excuse him for ghosting Steve,” Natasha points out. “I’m still planning my ass-kicking.”

“No, no,” Sam rushes. “You’ve got this all wrong.” His face turns somber. “Bucky’s been holed up in his apartment all week. I haven’t been able to get him to come out for any appointments, he barely even answered the phone. He was triggered by something and his PTSD’s been off the charts. It’s got nothing to do with you, Steve.”

“Yes!” Clint punches the air and then looks contrite. “I mean, that’s fucked up. But Operation Get Steve a Boyfriend is still a go!”

Steve’s intoxicated brain sluggishly tries to sort out this new information. “Wait…he could still be interested?”

“100% guarantee he is still interested,” Sam affirms. “He’s just trying to sort through his own shit right now.”

Something like hope starts bubbling in Steve’s chest. “It’s not me?”

“How could it be you?” Natasha frowns sternly at Steve. “You’re wonderful.”

“I’m so happy,” Clint slurs with a giant grin on his face, burping a little.

“You’re drunk,” Steve retorts automatically. He still feels like he hasn’t fully absorbed what’s happening. Could there really be a second chance for him and Bucky?

Sam claps him on the back. “Bucky’s crazy about you. You’re crazy about him. Knew I could solve this crisis.”

“I believe I solved the crisis by getting all of us together,” Natasha argues.

“Nah, I’m totally going to be the best man at the wedding,” Sam grins smugly. “They’ll name their first baby after me.”

“Yeah, in your dreams,” Natasha rolls her eyes.

They dissolve into a banter about who will be the favorite aunt or uncle, but Steve tunes them out. He’s ecstatic. Bucky hadn’t been ignoring him at all. Bucky didn’t regret kissing him. Bucky wants him.

Suddenly he realizes the full implication of Sam’s information. Bucky’s hurting, alone in his apartment. Steve’s heart clenches just thinking about it. Bucky had been there when Steve was too sick to function, and now he needed Steve and Steve had been too self-absorbed to realize what was going on.

There’s only one solution to the situation. Steve’s got to see him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh this is the second to last update guys! I'll be posting 9 + 10 together because 10 is an epilogue. I'll save my goodbyes for the next update but suffice to say this has been my baby and I can't believe we're almost at the end :')
> 
> Also the lovely Azi drew fanart for this fic, found [ here!! ](http://www.notwithouttyou.tumblr.com/post/155055930668/azrael-art-fan-art-for-story-on-ao3-cerulean) and there is a photoset for this fic [ here ](http://www.notwithouttyou.tumblr.com/post/154150234703/steve-rogers-has-been-teaching-art-to-veterans-for)

The next day Steve wakes with a mild hangover but ignores it in favor of catching an early bus to Bucky’s apartment. He stops by La Vida Mocha on the way and picks up two coffees and a couple pastries.

He doesn't get nervous until he's standing on Bucky’s doorstep. Who says Bucky even wants to see him? He had ignored all of Steve’s texts, after all. Steve was being pretty presumptuous by showing up with no warning. But eventually the coffee in his hands starts burning his palms so he’s forced to knock on the door.

Bucky doesn't answer right away, but after a moment there's a shuffling of footsteps and the door opens.

“Can I put these down?” Steve bursts out as a greeting, trying to not drop the hot coffees he's juggling.

Bucky nods in surprise and steps aside and Steve rushes in, depositing the cups on the coffee table.

“Oh thank god,” he sighs in relief, examining his reddened palms.

“Are you ok?” Bucky asks, his voice gravelly. Steve looks up and fully takes in Bucky. He looks awful. His hair is hanging lanky and unwashed in his face, and he's got dark, almost purple circles under his eyes. His skin is gaunt and pale, and he's dressed in a pair of pajama pants ridden with holes and a dirty white tee shirt.

“I think I should be asking you that,” Steve replies, frowning deeply.

Bucky shrugs wordlessly and sinks into the couch. Every one of his movements aches of exhaustion.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asks blankly.

Steve ignores the sting of the words. _It's not about you,_ he reminds himself.

“Well you missed coffee this week so I brought it to you,” Steve says lightly, handing Bucky a cup. He settles on opposite end of the couch, even though he'd like nothing more than to feel the warmth of Bucky's body next to his.

“Thanks.” Bucky takes a sip. His gaze is distant, empty.

Steve drinks the macchiato he got for himself, watching Bucky carefully. Now that he's here he's not sure how best to help Bucky, or even if his presence is a good thing. He hopes that he hasn't overstepped like he has a tendency to do.

Bucky glances over at him. “Sorry I'm not much company right now.” He runs a hand through his matted hair. “Rough week.”

“I know,” Steve murmurs. He hands the bag containing a cinnamon roll and a blueberry muffin to Bucky. “I’m not much of a cook but I thought you might want some food.”

Bucky bites into the muffin and gives a muffled thanks.

Silence falls between them. Bucky eats slowly and methodically, like it’s more of a chore than anything else. Steve bites his lip, wracking his brain for something to say. He’s usually got something to say about everything but right now he feels out of his depth, and intensely worried about Bucky.

After a moment, Steve gestures to his messenger bag. “Well since watching classics has kind of become our thing, I brought more over. If you, um, want to watch one? I can also go, I know I just kind of showed up here out of the blue, so don’t feel bad if you just want to be alone…” Steve starts to ramble, fidgeting with his bangs.

“No, it’s ok,” Bucky interrupts. “Yeah, let’s watch something.”

Steve decides on _Some Like It Hot_  and Bucky puts the movie on. They’re still sat at opposite ends of the couch. Steve wishes they could cuddle up like last time, but he’s here strictly as a friend. Or at least, until Bucky gives any sort of indication that he wants to be not-friends with Steve. Steve pushes his own wants out of his mind because he really is here to help Bucky feel better, not for some ulterior motive. He wants Bucky to be sure of that.

It’s early afternoon so Steve’s too awake to fall asleep like he usually does during movies, but a glance towards Bucky halfway through reveals that his eyes are closed and he’s slumped against the side of the couch breathing deeply. _Good_ , Steve thinks, Bucky looks like he hasn’t slept in days, if the dark bags under his eyes are any indication.

Bucky’s still sleeping soundly by the time the movie ends, so Steve covers him with a blanket and stands to stretch. It’s another testament to Bucky’s beauty that he’s gorgeous even now, exhausted and unkempt. Steve’s struck by his delicacy, because even with his defined muscles and tall stature, there’s an almost painful vulnerability to him while he sleeps. Not wanting to disturb the moment, Steve tiptoes to the kitchen silently.

His stomach is grumbling but he wasn’t kidding when he said he couldn’t cook. A glance through the pantry reveals that Bucky’s kitchen is well-stocked with everything from fruits and vegetables to brown rice pasta. It doesn’t look like Bucky’s been cooking recently though, all the pans are gleaming clean on the hanging rack and there aren’t any leftovers in the fridge, much to Steve’s dismay. He eventually locates some ramen packets and figures that even he can manage that. He puts on a pot of water to boil and leans against the island, lost in thought. But suddenly he hears a muffled noise from the living room, and he curiously goes to see what it was.

Bucky’s thrashing wildly on the living room couch and Steve immediately runs to his side. He must be having a nightmare, Steve realizes, because his eyes are still closed and he’s half mumbling, half yelling incoherently. He’s never seen anyone have a nightmare as violent as this, Bucky’s sweating and it’s almost as if he’s lost control of his body.

“Bucky,” he says urgently, crouching down beside him. “Bucky, wake up.”

Bucky just moans and keeps jerking around so hard that Steve’s afraid he’s going to fall off the couch.

“Bucky!” he calls, louder, shaking his shoulders. “You’re having a nightmare, wake up.” He puts his hands on either side of Bucky’s face, leans closer to him. “Buck, I need you to wake up. Please wake up. You’re dreaming.”

One of Bucky’s flailing arms accidentally catches Steve on the chest and he falls back against the coffee table with a loud crash, so hard that it knocks the wind out of him. He sits up and rubs his back, wincing. That’ll definitely bruise, but the noise seems to have finally brought Bucky around, because he jerks upright, looking around wildly.

“Steve? What’s going on?” Bucky demands, wiping sweat out of his face, eyes flicking to Steve and the knocked over coffee table.

“You had…a nightmare,” Steve pants, still struggling to catch his breath. “Couldn’t wake you up.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky’s eyes widen in horror and he immediately hops off the couch to crouch next to Steve. “Are you ok? Did I hurt you? What happened to the coffee table? Can you breathe ok?” Bucky’s questions tumble out frantically as his hands search over Steve’s body, apparently looking for broken bones.

Steve catches one of his hands and holds it still. “Bucky, calm down. I’m fine. Just take some deep breaths, ok? Breathe.’

Bucky lets out a shaky exhale and sits back on his heels. He looks utterly despondent. “I hurt you.”

“No you didn’t,” Steve insists, staring hard at Bucky until he meets his gaze. “I’m fine, see? Just lost my breath for a second.”

Bucky shakes his head sadly. “I should never have let you stay. I’m dangerous. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. You should go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says stubbornly. “So you can stop saying that right now.”

Bucky just slumps back against the couch, legs sprawling out on the floor in front of him. He looks like every ounce of energy has been drained from him, and he just stares vacantly out in front of him. “I’m a mess.”

Steve scoots over and sits next to him, leaning against the couch. “So am I,” he says gently. “So is everyone, except maybe Michelle Obama.”

Bucky laughs humorlessly. “I should have told you who I really am. Then you wouldn’t be stuck here next to me. I’m fucked up, Steve.”

“I’m here because I want to be, Bucky.”

“Then you’ve got a poor sense of self-preservation.”

“Hey,” Steve says curtly, laying a palm against Bucky’s cheek so he’s forced to look at him. “I’m not listening to any more of this shit. You’re my friend and I’m not going to sit here and let you beat yourself up, ok? Sure, maybe things aren’t all that great right now, and I get it, but it doesn’t automatically make you a fuck up. You had a nightmare and you pushed me away because you were scared. Big deal. God knows I’ve faced a lot worse than that in my life. So can we stop with the self-deprecation and just talk about whatever’s going on with you right now?”

Steve finishes his rant, breathing heavily and staring Bucky down, daring him to argue. Bucky’s silent for a moment, then raises a single eyebrow.

“That was almost as heated as our conversation about veganism.”

Steve bursts out in laughter. “That’s the Bucky I missed,” he smiles and Bucky returns with a tentative grin.

“No, um, thanks, Steve. Really. Sometimes I get in these headspaces and I just…spiral,” Bucky says seriously, looking at the floor. “Maybe, I’ll take a shower, and then we can talk?”

Steve nods and Bucky ambles off to the bathroom. Steve returns to the kitchen and finishes the ramen, dishing it into two bowls. Not too much later Bucky walks in, hair damp but looking much cleaner, and he smells like soap and mint. Steve takes a seat at the small table in the corner by the window, but winces involuntarily when the change in position tugs his back muscles.

Bucky stays standing and narrows his eyes at him. “Let me see your back,” he demands, striding over.

“Bucky, I said it’s fine,” Steve protests but Bucky just crosses his arms until Steve caves in. “Fine, whatever, knock yourself out,” he rolls his eyes, lifting the hem of his shirt.

Bucky’s fingers are warm and surprisingly soft as they trace over Steve’s back, stopping around the middle of his spine. “You have a nasty bruise,” Bucky murmurs from behind him, and Steve can hear the frown in his voice. His fingers rub light circles on the spot and Steve suppresses a shiver. “I’m so sorr—”

“Don’t say it,” Steve warns, twisting around and pointing a finger at Bucky. “No more sorrys.”

Bucky sighs but drops the hem of Steve’s shirt, walking over to the freezer instead. He digs out a bag of frozen peas and wraps them in a spare dishtowel. “Put this on your back, it’ll help. And I can give you some medicine later if the pain’s too bad.”

Steve accepts the peas but gestures to the table. “Why don’t you stop worrying about me and come eat? I made us a high-class meal, after all.”

“Ah yes, the meal of champions, ramen,” Bucky smirks, slipping into a chair across from Steve. “But seriously, this is the first hot meal I’ve had in a week, so thanks.”

Steve shrugs, slurping up some noodles. “What friends are for, right?”

Bucky doesn’t respond to that for some reason, just chews his food silently. Steve launches into a story about one of his art students to fill the silence and Bucky nods along, listening attentively.

They both lean back in their chairs when they finish. Steve sighs in satisfaction. “That hit the spot,” he says, closing his eyes briefly. “Reminds me of oh-so-many college nights. Ramen, a college student’s best friend.”

“And it didn’t remind me of army food, so that’s a huge plus,” Bucky replies. “If you can even call that food.”

“Is that why you like to cook?” Steve asks, waving a hand at the well stocked kitchen.

Bucky nods. “That’s probably a big part of it. Life was just so…different when I got back. There were so many things I was free to do, but at the same time so many things I was—am—trying to forget. It’s like some part of me thinks that if I cook enough boeuf bourguignon, I’ll somehow forget the days when we had nothing but stale bread to eat. That if I run five miles a day, I’ll forget the weeks I was in the hospital and couldn’t move.”

“That’s a lot to try to forget,” Steve says softly.

“Yeah, but I just can’t have it in my head all the time, you know?” Bucky runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I can’t live with it, with the memories bombarding me all the time. And I _was_  doing better, a lot better than I had been. Living, going out despite the PTSD and the memories. But all it took was one little trigger, someone from the army that I saw at fucking CVS, and I’m back to square one, hiding from the world like a damn hermit. Messing up everything good I had going.”

Steve places his hand on top of Bucky’s, squeezing gently. “I think it’s not linear, moving on. It’s so frustrating, all the ups and downs, and one day you think you’re right back where you started, but you’re not. With losing my Ma…I still have days, like just two weeks ago, where I can barely move because the pain is too heavy. And it’s been three fucking years. But then I have days where the sun is shining and I do a drawing a really like and I make a new friend. And those days help me get through the bad ones.”

Steve lets out a breath and looks Bucky in the eyes. “And you still have me, so you didn’t mess up everything.”

His heart starts pounding as Bucky gazes right back at him across the table, their hands connected and something intangible filling the air.

“I did though. I let you think I didn’t want you. And that couldn’t be further from the truth,” Bucky says quietly. “I’ve got a lot of shit to sort through, Stevie. You deserve the world, not me.”

Steve’s stomach swoops. He thinks about everything he had been so sure of this last week, that Bucky was actually straight, or that Bucky didn’t like him anymore, and he almost can’t comprehend that it might not be true. A beat passes before Steve can formulate a response.

“So…you’re not straight?”

Bucky tips his head back and laughs like Steve has just said the funniest thing in the world. Something like hope starts to bubble in Steve’s chest.

“C’mere,” Bucky says, low and insistent, but he’s grinning at Steve and his eyes are bright.

Steve stands and rounds the table to stand awkwardly in front of Bucky. The other man smiles gently. “Sit down,” he says, patting his lap.

Steve hesitates, but Bucky’s gaze is focused and serious, so he does as he’s told. Bucky’s thighs are solid and steady beneath him, and he feels like his heart is pounding so hard he must be shaking.

Bucky cups Steve’s chin with a firm hand, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Steve Rogers, I am totally, 100 percent, flamingly, gay.”

Bucky surges up and kisses Steve firmly, taking what remained of his breath away. And then it’s like gravity, the way Steve sinks into the kiss, forgetting all the pain and the hurt, lost in Bucky’s arms. His lips are as wonderfully plush as Steve remembers, moving beneath his own insistently. The kiss is solid but also gentle at the same time, as if Bucky wants to treat Steve with care.

Bucky’s got one hand on Steve’s jaw and the other on the middle of his back, pushing him closer so that their chests are flush against each other. Steve can feel Bucky’s heart pounding at a rabbit-like pace against his own, his breath labored. Steve raises his hands and buries them in Bucky’s hair, carding through the smooth strands and eventually tugging a little. Bucky lets out a low growl when he does that and Steve pulls back, grinning.

“Think I found something you like,” he teases, looking down at Bucky. And oh god, he’s irresistible like this, with bright red lips and flushed cheeks.

Bucky slowly runs a hand up Steve’s spine. He looks up at Steve through his dark lashes. “There are a lot of things I like,” he says quietly, and Steve shivers at the low tone.

“Then I look forward to learning all of them,” Steve replies, and leans down to kiss Bucky again.

They stay like that, kissing with Steve perched on Bucky’s lap, long after the food grows cold. But this time is different than the last time they kissed. Last time had been frantic and rushed, now they kiss slowly and deeply. It’s intimate and wonderful and Steve never wants it to end.

Eventually they both tire, however, and retreat into Bucky’s bedroom. Once there, Bucky tenses up, sitting on the side of the bed morosely.

“Bucky?” Steve questions, sitting down next to him. “What’s wrong? I wasn’t expecting us to do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Steve longs to discover the rest of Bucky’s body but also knows that now is not the right time. What they have between them, while amazing, also feels fragile and Steve doesn’t want to shatter it.

“No it’s not that,” Bucky says, sighing. “It’s just…the sleeping.”

A flash of recognition comes as Steve remembers Bucky’s nightmare from earlier. “Hey, look at me,” he says gently, tipping Bucky’s face up with a finger. “You need sleep, ok? I’ll be right here and maybe that’ll help. I’m not scared of your nightmares.”

Bucky looks pained. “Promise me you’ll leave the room if I get violent?”

“Promise. But that’s not gonna happen. Stop overthinking this, you jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky grunts out automatically, but seems to be slightly more reassured.

Bucky lends Steve a t-shirt and it absolutely dwarfs Steve, making him feel tiny and ridiculous. But then Bucky kisses his cheek and tells him he’s beautiful and suddenly he doesn’t mind so much anymore.

Crawling into bed together feels natural, and they slot together easily. Bucky spoons Steve from behind, with those warm, steady arms encircling him completely. Steve laces their fingers together and kisses Bucky’s knuckles.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” he murmurs. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight,” Bucky whispers against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe.

They both sleep clear through to morning.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve’s alarm is blaring and he slaps blindly at it until the annoying racket stops. Ugh, mornings are the worst. He groggily opens his eyes, rubbing sleep out of them. It takes a second for his sluggish brain to process where he is. The sheets are white, not blue, and _Of Mice and Men_  isn’t lying on the bedside table where he left it.

But then his brain finally catches up and he remembers that he’s at Bucky’s house. In his bed. After Bucky had kissed him and told him he wanted him.

Right. So that happened.

It still feels like he must still be dreaming, but he rolls over and then he’s face to face with a sleeping Bucky. His hair is strewn across his face haphazardly, and there’s a little drool staining the pillow beneath his cheek, but he’s absolutely beautiful. Steve gently brushes a few strands away from Bucky’s face so he can see it more clearly. Bucky’s got a peaceful, utterly relaxed look on his face and he’s sleeping soundly, even after the Steve’s ridiculously loud phone

Steve sighs happily and snuggles a little deeper into the blankets, still gazing at Bucky. He’s probably being creepy but he doesn’t care. This is the best feeling in the world, waking up warm and cozy next to—in his opinion—the most attractive man in the world. He really should nominate Bucky for People’s Sexiest Man Alive. He’ll put it on his to-do list.

A quick glance at his phone a few minutes later tells him, sadly, that he has to get up if he wants to make it to work on time. It’s Monday and he definitely doesn’t want to be late to his class. He wonders if Bucky will come today. Bucky had talked a little about his PTSD last night, but he’s not sure how Bucky is feeling. There is a decent amount of people in the class, and Steve knows Bucky might not feel up to facing that sort of crowd yet.

He attempts to slip out of bed quietly, but Bucky notices the shift in the mattress and he mumbles something incoherent, blinking his eyes open slowly.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” Steve grins down at him softly. And then, because he can, he leans down and presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. He blushes afterwards, wondering if that was too cheesy of a move.

But Bucky smiles fondly up at him, and says in a scratchy, low voice, “Good morning baby.”

Steve’s heart stutters. _Jesus Christ_. He doesn’t know if it’s the “baby” or the timbre of Bucky’s voice, but he’s about two seconds away melting to the floor in a pile of mush. Or possibly climbing him like a tree. 

“Why are you awake?” Bucky frowns up at him, seemingly unaware of the effect of his morning voice on Steve.

“Because it’s—” Steve checks his phone, “—7:38 and I have work at 9:00.”

“Oh right, it’s Monday huh? Well let me make you breakfast,” Bucky starts rousing himself from bed, but Steve puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“No it’s ok,” Steve shakes his head. “You need to sleep. Which you did without any nightmares last night, I might point out.”

“Really?” Bucky looks shocked. “Wow, that’s the first time in like, a week.”

“Guess I’m your good luck charm,” Steve jokes.

Bucky sits up, cups Steve’s face with his hand and kisses him soundly. “I think you are,” Bucky murmurs when he pulls away, running his fingers along Steve’s jaw. “Thanks for staying with me.”

“Yeah, you really had to twist my arm,” Steve says, but his sarcasm is hindered by his breathlessness from the unexpected kiss. He reaches forward and tucks some of Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “I’m glad you slept okay, though. You looked so tired.”

Bucky nods. “I was.”

“Which is why you need to stay here and catch up some more.”

“And let you eat, what, a granola bar?” Bucky crooks an eyebrow. “Tell me you’ll make yourself a real breakfast and I won’t get up.”

“Well…breakfast is a flexible term,” Steve says evasively. “It can mean a lot of things.”

“Nice try,” Bucky rolls his eyes and gets up. “Hearty breakfast coming right up. Do you want to take a shower? And I could throw your clothes in the dryer to freshen up if you want. I’d lend you something but…”

“Don’t,” Steve points a finger threateningly. “No comments about my size before 8 AM.”

Bucky grins devilishly. “Whatever you say, shorty.”

“Oh you’re gonna pay for that!” Steve exclaims, jumping around the bed to corner Bucky. He crowds Bucky up against the wall, pinning him there with his arms, ignoring the fact that Bucky towers over him. “You don’t want to face my wrath,” he warns.

“Don’t I?” Bucky breathes, and leans down to bring Steve in for a searing kiss. This one lasts longer and is more heated than the first, and Bucky slips his hands under Steve’s thighs to hoist him up. Steve wraps his legs around his hips, enjoying the leverage on Bucky the change of position gives him. He deepens the kiss, savoring the feeling of being surrounded by Bucky.

They kiss until they’re breathless, both of them panting when they pull apart. Bucky’s still holding Steve up, and Steve gazes down at him.

“You’re heavy,” Bucky complains, but makes no move to release him.

“I think you’re out of shape,” Steve smirks. “Maybe you should do some shirtless push-ups.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Bucky murmurs, leaning in to suck a little at Steve’s neck. “Seeing me all sweaty, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, his eyes fluttering shut as Bucky’s mouth ghosts over his skin. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Bucky pulls back and Steve whines at the loss of contact. “Well I guess you’ll just have to be patient,” Bucky smirks, gently lowering him to the floor.

Steve groans. “You’re such a tease.”

“Oh I intend to follow up on these promises,” Bucky winks tauntingly. “But for now, you need to get ready for work. Shower’s that way, use any of my stuff you want, and I’ll throw these in the dryer while you shower.” Bucky grabs the pile of Steve’s discarded clothing and heads for the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

 

++

When Steve walks into the kitchen, dressed and showered, he’s greeted by a breakfast spread that makes his usual morning meal of cheerios pale in comparison. On the table is a giant bowl of fruit salad, a steaming pot of oatmeal, crisp slices of toast, several different types of juice, and what looks like scrambled eggs and sausage.

“It’s all vegan,” Bucky explains from his position at the stove flipping pancakes. “Tofu scramble, soy sausage, and these are eggless blueberry pancakes. I wasn’t sure what you like so I kind of just made everything.” He snaps his fingers. “Oh! And I have soy and almond milk in the fridge. Or do you drink coconut milk? I might have some in the—”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupts, coming up behind Bucky, slipping his arms around his waist and leaning up to press his lips his cheek. “This is perfect. You didn’t have to do all of this. How do you even have so much vegan food anyway?”

Bucky’s cheeks redden. “I may have made a trip to Whole Foods after our first date. And possibly bought out all their vegan food.”

“You’re such a sap!” Steve punches his shoulder. “And I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you.” Bucky turns around and looks at him intently, blue eyes firm. “You know that, right? I’m sorry I ever made you think that.”

“Bucky, I’ve already forgiven you, so stop apologizing,” Steve chastises, leaning up to peck him on the lips. “Come sit down and help me eat this ridiculous feast you made.”

Bucky quickly finishes the pancakes and joins Steve at the table. They both dig in with gusto, and the food is amazing. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever had better vegan food in his life, it’s definitely way above the usual haphazard meals he makes for himself.

“Seriously, thanks Bucky,” he says around a bite of scrambled tofu. “This is delicious.”

Bucky shrugs. “Like I said, I cook in my free time. Which I have a lot of.”

Steve eyes him carefully, frowning a little. “How are you feeling? Be honest.”

Bucky averts his gaze, staring fixedly down at his plate. “Better, with you here. And it’s a big deal that I was able to sleep without nightmares. But like, the anxiety is still there.” He chances a glance back up at Steve, his eyes painfully honest. “It’s almost like my chest is being crushed by it, sometimes. Or like I’m going crazy, when I can’t stop the flashbacks. I haven’t had any while you’ve been here but I’m still afraid. Afraid of going out there…where I can’t control things, people. It’s honestly terrifying.” He lets out a slow breath. “God, I do sound crazy.”

Steve shakes his head firmly. “No you don’t, Buck. You’re dealing with a really scary disorder. I’d be terrified too.”

Bucky sighs, looking away again. “But I can’t be a shut-in for the rest of my life. Don’t want to be.”

“Little steps, remember?” Steve holds Bucky’s hand and rubs his thumb in soothing circles. “Like sleeping through the night. Talking to me. You’re already getting better.”

Bucky nods silently, squeezing Steve’s hand. “Thanks.”

“What can I do to help?” Steve asks earnestly. “Just tell me what you need.”

“Um, well I don’t think I can make it to the VA today. But maybe you could come over after work?” Bucky asks uncertainly. “I mean, unless you have other plans, which is totally fine.”

“I’ll be here,” Steve promises. “As long as you don’t mind if I bring Cookie. I can’t leave her alone all day.”

“Oh I see who’s really important here,” Bucky teases, but the heavy, sad expression is gone from his face.

“She is my best girl,” Steve grins. “But I guess you’re okay.”

“You’re okay too,” Bucky smiles softly at him. “Even if I have to cook you weird vegan shit.”

“Hey you said you liked it!” Steve protests and Bucky laughs heartily.

“Kidding, kidding,” he surrenders. “I will cook you all the vegan food you can possibly eat. But you need to get going, you said you were catching the 8:30 bus right?”

Steve glances at the clock and jumps up. “Shit, yeah.” He comes around the table and leans down to kiss Bucky deeply. “See you later?”

“Of course, baby,” Bucky murmurs against his lips and Steve’s stomach swoops.

Steve misses Bucky the minute he steps out the door.

++

Both Natasha and Sam are waiting in the studio by the time he gets to the VA. He eyes them cautiously, depositing his bag slowly.

“Good morning?” he questions.

Natasha throws up her hands. “Oh don’t give us that ‘good morning’ crap. We want details, now.” She glares at him like she’s a CIA operative drilling him for information. Which seems pretty plausible as a future career for her.

“Well…” Steve starts, and because he can’t help it, breaks into a dopey grin.

“I fucking knew it!!” Natasha yells and attacks him with a tight hug. Steve breaks into happy, slightly smothered, laughs and looks over her shoulder at Sam. He’s grinning back at him with his own huge smile.

“Nat, let the guy breathe,” Sam chides, but his voice is happy. “Steve, that’s really good news man.”

“I haven’t even said anything,” Steve points out.

Natasha pulls back from the hug and holds him at arms length, assessing him. “You’re literally glowing. Tell him I’m right Sam.”

“You do have this look like you just won the lottery. Or, no, even better, like you’ve convinced me and Nat to give up meat,” Sam grins.

“Shut up,” Steve punches his arm but he cannot wipe the smile off his face. This is the happiest he can remember feeling in a long time. “He said he wants me.”

“Of course he wants you, you idiot! I’ve _literally_  been saying this for weeks!” Natasha exclaims.

“She has,” Sam affirms.

“Well, it’s a little different coming from him, ok?” Steve protests. “But yeah, um, I spent last night at his house. And I think we’re like a thing now. I mean, not a _thing_  thing, but maybe we could be one day? I don’t know. He wants me to come back tonight.”

“You’ve already got him begging for more,” Natasha smirks. “Naughty Stevie.”

“One, never call me that again; two, you know perfectly well it’s not like that. Well not yet anyway.”

“Not yet,” Natasha winks and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Alright, enough sex talk,” Sam grabs Nat by the shoulders and steers her to the door. “Go help your patients, I have to talk to Steve.”

Natasha grumbles but allows herself to be led out. “We’re talking more later,” she warns Steve before slipping out the door.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh Nat,” he sighs fondly.

“You can say that again,” Sam laughs, leaning up against Steve’s desk. His face sombers, looking at Steve. “How’s Bucky doing?”

“Not great,” Steve answers honestly. “I mean, he said it was better that I’m there but he’s still having trouble leaving the house.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Sam nods.

“Is there anything I should be doing for him, to help?” Steve asks. “He said me just being there is what he needs, but I want to do everything I can.”

“It’s not your job to fix him, Steve. I’ve known Bucky long enough to know that he’s strong and he’ll work past this. He just needs you to be there and to be yourself. I’m sure you’ve already helped him more than you realize.”

Steve frowns. “It’s just hard to see him hurting.”

“It always is,” Sam agrees. “But remember, you’re his boyfriend, not his therapist.”

“I’m not his boyfriend!” Steve squawks, and Sam just shrugs, grinning again.

“Not yet,” he echoes Natasha, and gives Steve his own wink. He claps him on the shoulder, stands. “Gotta go. You better keep up your end of the group chat.”

“You two are worse than a gossip magazine,” Steve complains, but gives Sam a warm goodbye hug anyway.

The veterans arrive not too much later and Steve dives into teaching the lesson, painting portraits. His heart twinges with some nostalgia as he looks out at the smiling faces, each with their own complicated story. It’s the second to last class, and it’s always hard to say goodbye to each group of students.

The students start working on their canvases, comfortable enough with their art that they shoo away Steve’s presence when he makes his rounds. The fact that the veterans have gained enough confidence to work solo makes Steve feel insanely proud. He hopes that at least some of the students will continue to make art once they leave his class. He loves it when he’s able to help others realize how wonderful doing art can be. It’s his one true passion, after all.

As absorbed as he is in class, however, he still finds himself glancing instinctively to Bucky’s empty seat. What is Bucky up to, all alone in his house all day? Steve knows he’s a grown man and all, but he can’t help but worry.

To make the time go faster, he joins the students and makes his own painting. It’s been a while since he did anything other than sketch, and he immediately enjoys the familiar sensation of smoothly sweeping paint across the canvas and all the memories it brings. In college his senior project had been a collection of paintings that he did of his old neighborhood in Brooklyn. As he paints now, he remembers those nights he stayed up until the sun rose in his cramped studio, brushing paint onto canvases furiously. Those had been some of the times that he felt the most _himself_ , the most Steve, as he ever had. It was then he knew if he did nothing else the rest of his life, he wanted to make art.

Class ends all too quickly and he reminds everyone that next week will be the last session, and to be thinking if there’s any one last project they’d like to complete. The last class is always a free-choice day, he just leaves all the supplies available and lets the students make whatever is most meaningful to them. Usually some really interesting and unique pieces come out of it, so he looks forward to it.

The rest of his day seems to drag on rather slowly and by the time he gets off at 4:00 he practically runs out the door to his bus stop. He just can’t wait to see Bucky, see that smile and kiss his lips again. He’s so far gone for him and he has no idea when that happened. Maybe he was all along.

Steve drops by his own apartment first to pick up Cookie and a change of clothes. He’s probably being presumptuous, Bucky hadn’t said anything about him staying over after all, but he can’t show up to work tomorrow wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Or at least, not without Sam and Nat teasing him mercilessly.

He’s practically vibrating with excitement by the time he makes it to Bucky’s apartment, Cookie tucked under one arm. Bucky answers after just one knock and the huge smile he greets Steve with makes his chest fill with warmth. He puts Cookie down and lets her explore the apartment while Bucky wraps him up in his arms, kissing him firmly.

“I missed you,” Steve murmurs against his lips. “Is that too cheesy to say?”

“Better not be because I was about to say the same thing,” Bucky grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. He rubs his hands down Steve’s arms. “How was work?”

“Good,” Steve nods, overwhelmed by how domestic this is, Bucky kissing him and asking him about his day. But it’s the best kind of being overwhelmed, like he’s found something that he never wants to let go of. “How was your day? Are you doing ok?”

“I’m fine,” Buck assures him, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Feeling a little better, actually.”

Steve hums in approval and leans up for another kiss, savoring the plushness of Bucky’s lips. “You taste good,” he murmurs, pecking Bucky again to check.

“I made dinner. Vegetable fajitas. Are you hungry?”

“Breakfast and dinner?” Steve exclaims, pulling back. “You’re gonna spoil me, Buck.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying to get a few square meals in ya,” Bucky shrugs.

“Sure, _mom_ ,” Steve rolls his eyes. Bucky just smiles and kisses him on the cheek, and bends down to say hello to Cookie. She wags her tail wildly when he pets her and even licks his face a few times. The sight of Bucky playing with his dog, laughing and rubbing behind her ears, makes him feel all mushy inside. He suddenly realizes how badly he wants all of this, coming home to Bucky and spending the evening, every evening, with him. He wants all of Bucky, his good moods and his bad, his early morning sleepy voice, his dumb jokes, his laughter. Steve wants every single moment with him.

But he doesn’t say all of that right now, he just bends down and joins Bucky in playing with Cookie, smiling when their hands meet. Bucky’s cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright, so Steve grabs him right then and there and presses their mouths together, not caring that they just finished kissing a few seconds ago.

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, however, and they get caught up in each other again, sitting down on the floor and Steve climbing into Bucky’s lap. They’re acting like two horny teenagers, he knows, but it feels like he’ll never be close enough to Bucky, like he’ll never get enough of him.

“This is ridiculous,” Bucky laughs by the time they’re both sprawled out on the carpet, Steve lying on top of Bucky propped up on his elbows. “I could kiss you for hours.”

“Same here, pal,” Steve smiles, absently playing with Bucky’s hair.

“Hey Steve?” Bucky asks suddenly, and Steve pauses, looking at him curiously.

“Yeah?”

“I want to take you on a date.”

Steve chuckles. “Think we’re a little bit past the first date, aren’t we?”

Bucky frowns and sits up. “No, I’m serious. I want to take you out, for real. I want to treat you like you deserved to be treated, with food and hand holding and me opening doors for you and all that stuff we skipped past.”

Steve blushes, flustered. “I mean, that sounds great Buck. But you don’t have to do all that. And you’re still recovering, I don’t mind hanging out here.

“Uh uh, I’ve made up my mind. This Saturday, you and me. I’ll get my shit together by then.”

“Okay, Bucky,” Steve concedes, stroking his hair again. “If you want to go on a date, we’ll go on a date.”

“Good,” Bucky stands and extends a hand to pull Steve to his feet, grinning. “Prepare to be wooed.”

++

Over the course of the week they fall into an easy routine. Steve comes over to Bucky’s apartment right after work everyday, and Bucky always greets him with a kiss, or several, and dinner already made. Steve insists that Bucky doesn’t need to do the cooking every night but every time he tries to get near the stove Bucky shoos him away (“I like my kitchen the way it is Steve, not burned to the ground”).

He starts leaving Cookie at Bucky’s place while he’s at work because Bucky swears he likes her company. He also has a collection of his clothes at Bucky’s house that’s growing at an alarming rate. When he comes home Thursday night to find that Bucky had cleared out a section of his closet and hung Steve’s clothes there, he can’t stop grinning for an hour. He all but gives up sleeping at his own apartment, both he and Bucky sleep better when they’re wrapped up together, drifting off to the sound of each other breathing.

Bucky seems to be getting better, too. He starts writing in a journal daily, sometimes reading sections to Steve when they’re curled up on the couch after dinner. After a few days he also returns to the VA for therapy, which makes Steve absurdly proud of him. He still has nightmares occasionally but Steve always coaxes him through them with gentle words and touches. It almost feels like they’ve been a couple for years by how natural they are together, but neither of them has brought up the subject of whether or not they’re officially boyfriends yet. Steve doesn’t want to rock the boat, and besides he’s happy with what they have, so he stays silent on the topic.

Bucky’s been very secretive about whatever he’s planned for their date on Saturday, so by the time the day comes, Steve’s both nervous and excited.

He wakes up Saturday morning blissfully slowly, with no alarm blaring in his ears. It’s a rare sunny day and yellow light is filtering through the blinds in long streaks. He rolls over on his side to face Bucky.

“Mngh,” Bucky mumbles incoherently with his eyes closed, but his arms tighten around Steve. “’Morning baby.”

“Good morning,” Steve whispers, marveling for what must be the thousandth time at how beautiful Bucky is like this, sleep-soft and pliant. He plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’m gonna go make us some coffee.”

“No!” Bucky’s eyes snap open and he jolts upright. His hair is a rat’s nest and he bats uselessly at it, blinking several times to obviously try to wake up.

Steve laughs because he looks half-crazy, with his wild hair and all. “Um, Buck, we went over this, remember? I know how to use a coffee maker.”

“No it’s not that,” Bucky shakes his head, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. “Although I’m still not convinced on that. It’s Saturday, our date day. You’re going to spend the morning in bed while I dote on you.”

“‘Dote’ on me huh?” Steve raises his eyebrows. “I guess I could get used to that.”

“Good,” Bucky smiles, more awake now. He tucks the covers back around Steve until he’s snug again, and leans down, kissing him languidly. “Stay here.”

Bucky returns a few minutes later carrying a tray laden with two mugs of coffee, a bowl of fruit, orange juice, and a few slices of toast. “I would have made you a full breakfast,” Bucky explains as he settles the tray on the bedside table, “but we’re going to brunch at noon.”

“Ooh brunch,” Steve exclaims, gingerly taking the hot mug. “Where are we going?”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” Bucky says secretively, settling back onto the bed next to him.

“Not even a hint?”

“I’m not sure you’re familiar with the concept of a ‘surprise’, Stevie.”

Steve gives him a lighthearted punch. “You’re a jerk.”

“Right back at ya, punk.”

True to Bucky’s word they spend the morning lazing about in bed, drinking coffee, and then when that gets cold, making out. Eventually it gets late enough that Bucky insists they have to get up or they’ll be late for their mysterious brunch reservation.

After they both shower and get dressed, Bucky drives them to downtown Seattle. Steve watches him carefully out of the corner of his eye, making sure that the traffic isn’t causing Bucky anxiety. He seems good for the most part, they sing along horribly off-key to the radio and Steve holds Bucky’s right hand when it’s not on the wheel. Eventually Bucky pulls the car up along the curb in front of a towering building that must be at least thirty stories tall.

Steve gapes up at the building, reading the sign. “The Ritz-Carlton?! Bucky, tell me we’re not going to brunch here, it’s too expensive.” He’s never even set foot in a hotel as nice as the Ritz before. His Ma and him certainly didn’t have money for fancy vacations when he was growing up, and his meager salary at the VA doesn’t exactly lend him to a life of luxury. Not that he minds, of course, but it’s shocking to him that some people have enough money to blow on 500 dollar a night hotel stays.

“Hey,” Bucky cups his chin lightly and turns him to face him. “I want to treat you, Stevie. So please let me. And don’t worry about the money, I promise I have plenty saved up, ok? And I got us a special discount.”

Steve hesitates, but doesn’t immediately refuse. Bucky grins and kisses him. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He jumps out of the car and runs around to open Steve’s door before Steve can even finish undoing his seatbelt.

The lobby of the hotel is stunning. An ornate crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the beveled ceiling and the floor is laid with spotless white marble tiles. There are tall ivory pillars connecting the floor to the ceiling and several bronze statues are artfully placed around the lobby. All the staff is dressed in impeccable black suits, the men’s hair perfectly combed and the women’s makeup flawless. Steve feels ridiculously underdressed in his khakis and cheap button-down, but Bucky must sense his discomfort because he places a warm hand on his lower back and whispers “you’re perfect” in his ear, which makes him flush from head to toe.

Bucky seems more at ease with the luxurious surroundings than him, and casually leads Steve to the elevators with his palm still flat on his back.

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs, looking up at Bucky while they wait for the elevator. “This is already amazing.”

Bucky just smiles and kisses him. They take the elevator to the top floor and step out to an equally ornate dining room, with more chandeliers and china plates at every table. The floor to ceiling windows lend a spectacular view of Seattle, making the room feel bright and open. Bucky steps up to the maître d’, a dark haired man so perfectly coiffed he could be a model.

“Name?” the man asks, looking down at the reservation list.

“James and Steven Barnes,” Bucky answers smoothly.

Steve gapes, turning to Bucky with an incredulous expression. Bucky just puts a finger to his lips, shaking his head minutely.

“Ah yes, very good,” the model-slash-maître d’ answers, immediately whisking them off the table. “Congratulations,” he says disinterestedly before he breezes off.

Bucky grins at Steve with a slightly sheepish expression. “I may have told them we’re newlyweds to get a fifteen percent discount.”

“Bucky!” Steve exclaims, crossing his arms. “That’s completely dishonest.”

“Yeah, but it worked,” Bucky says pointedly. “C’mon, live a little.”

Steve shakes his head bemusedly. “You’re so ridiculous. And anyway, who says our last name would be Barnes? I vehemently object to this heteronormativity.”

Bucky tilts his head, considering. “Hmm, well, I guess I could go for Barnes-Rogers. Might be difficult for the kids though.”

Steve splutters out a sip of water. “We have kids now?”

Bucky nods seriously. “Lily and Everett.”

Steve snorts. “No way any kid of mine is being named Everett.”

“Yeah, you’d probably prefer some hippie, vaguely political name,” Bucky sighs mock-sadly. “Like, Rain, or Virtue or something.”

“You’re one to talk about names, _Bucky_.”

“Hey, low blow,” Bucky objects. “I didn’t come up with that.”

“Mhm, suure,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Your naming privileges are revoked.”

“Fine, but I get to pick what color we paint the master bedroom.”

“As long as you do the grunt work, you can paint it whatever color you want, pal.”

They joke and laugh about their fictitious house and kids until the waiter arrives. “Would you care for some drinks?” he asks Bucky.

“Hmm, I think almond milk lattes sound good, don’t you honeybunch?” Bucky answers, looking at Steve with exaggerated love-struck eyes.

“Oh yes, pumpkin,” Steve simpers, fluttering his eyelashes.

“And my husband here is vegan so I’d like you to bring him a special menu please,” Bucky adds. “I’ll have only the best for my darling.”

“Of course sir,” the waiter nods attentively, and whisks away to fix the drinks.

They both laugh heartily when he disappears. “I think we put on a pretty good newlywed act, don’t you?” Bucky says, reaching across the table to join hands with Steve. “Darling.”

“Yeah, maybe we do,” he smiles at Bucky. “Pumpkin.”

++

Once they’re both stuffed with overpriced brunch food and jittery from too much coffee, they head out to walk the streets of downtown. The tree-lined sidewalks are ablaze with the colors of fall and they take their time meandering along slowly, stopping at shops here and there. At some point their hands become interlaced, and Steve savors the solid warmth of Bucky’s fingers tangled up with his own.

Eventually they stumble across a park and find a bench to settle onto. Steve pulls out his sketchbook from his bag and Bucky lies down with his head in Steve’s lap, gazing up at him with a soft smile. Steve leans down and touches his lips to Bucky’s upside down.

“And you’re sure you’re warm enough?” Bucky asks, frowning up at Steve in that overprotective way of his.

Steve rolls his eyes and adjusts his scarf around his neck. “Yes Bucky, for the millionth time, I am nice and cozy. And look, it’s even sunny today.”

“Yeah,” Bucky relaxes, closing his eyes against the sunlight warming his face. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm,” Steve murmurs, carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair gently. “This has been the perfect day Bucky, thank you so much.”

Bucky looks pleased. “Good. But it’s not over yet.”

“Buck, this is all more than enough already.”

“I know. But like I said, I enjoy treating you.” Bucky grabs one of Steve’s hands and runs his thumb over his knuckles. He looks up at Steve seriously, eyes more gray than blue in the sunlight. “It’s almost like no one ever told you how special you are, Stevie.”

Steve’s incredibly touched by Bucky’s words, and he has no idea how to respond. All of this is foreign to him, even his last boyfriend (if you could call him that) had never said things like that to him. “Buck, I’m not…” he trails off.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Bucky murmurs, still caressing his hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I mean what I say.”

Steve nods, his heart filling with emotion. “You’re special too, Bucky.”

Bucky just smiles up at him quietly.

They spend a while lazing about in the park relaxing and enjoying the sunlight. Steve sketches Bucky, trying to capture the tenderness of the moment. An older lady pushing a baby stroller stops to tell them they make an adorable couple, which makes Steve duck his head in embarrassment. But Bucky just smiles and squeezes Steve’s hand. “I’m a lucky guy,” he says seriously to the woman, and Steve kisses him after that.

Once they get hungry again, they wander their way to a vegan pizzeria and enjoy huge, sloppy pieces of pizza, kissing sauce off each other’s chins. And then for the final part of the night, Bucky surprises him by taking him to a small bar where there’s an old-timey jazz band playing. Bucky seems a little unsure at first, saying he didn’t know what type of music Steve likes but that he seems like someone who would like the oldies. Steve assures him it’s perfect and drags him out to the middle of the dance floor.

The music is brassy and sensuous, and they sway to it, Steve’s head resting in the crook of Bucky’s neck. They’re both slightly clumsy and Steve steps on Bucky’s foot more than once, but it’s perfect all the same. The air of the bar is thick and smoky, and the two of them get caught up in it all, melding in to each other even deeper with each song. Steve doesn’t pay any attention to the other bar-goers in the small establishment; his only thought is Bucky, just Bucky. They stay in the bar until late in the night, sitting on stools by the bar and drinking ginger ales when they’re both too tired to dance anymore.

They crawl into bed together when they get home later, both of them a happy sort of exhausted. Steve rests his head against Bucky’s chest and Bucky pulls him close, pressing his lips to the top of Steve’s head.

“This was perfect,” Steve murmurs sleepily, listening to the steady thrum of Bucky’s heartbeat. “Thank you Buck.”

Bucky mumbles something unintelligible into his hair, already halfway asleep. So Steve kisses his knuckles and scoots impossibly closer to him, knowing as he drifts off that he’s the happiest he’s ever been.

++

The last session of Steve’s art class arrives before he knows it. Bucky and Steve head to the VA together on Monday morning since Steve spent the night at Bucky’s house. Even though Steve’s loathe to admit it, he has practically moved in to Bucky’s apartment at this point. It’s crazy how fast they’re moving, but it also feels so incredibly _right_ that he has no desire to slow down.

Bucky helps him set up the easels and art supplies, and when that’s finished they sit on top of Steve’s desk, kissing slowly.

“I would say get a room, but I guess you already have one,” interrupts a sarcastic voice, and they jerk apart to Natasha strolling into the studio smugly, Sam trailing at her heels. “So we meet the lovebirds at last.”

Steve sighs. “Bucky, meet my annoying friends. Who you already know anyway. This is weird, guys, my best friend is my boyfr—Bucky’s therapist.” He coughs lightly to hide the fact that he almost called Bucky his boyfriend. Which he probably is, but Steve’s to chicken to be the first one to say it out loud.

Sam claps Bucky on the shoulder. “Nah, it’s not weird. How you doin’, man?”

“Good,” Bucky nods. “Hey, Natasha,” he greets Nat, looking slightly wary.

Natasha fixes him with one of her penetrating stares. “So are you treating Steve right? Because I have many talents, including a black belt in karate and large collection of pepper sprays.”

“Natasha,” Steve groans, burying his face in his hands. “Please, don’t.”

Bucky just chuckles and wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, kissing his temple. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed. And yes, Natasha, I am.”

Natasha seems appeased by that and softens her gaze ever so slightly.

“You two are fucking adorable,” Sam says, shaking his head. “It’s awful.”

“I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Stevie this happy,” Natasha agrees.

“That’s good,” Bucky smiles fondly at Steve. “I like it when he’s happy.”

“Awww,” Sam and Natasha coo in unison.

“Alright alright enough with all the sugary sweet stuff,” Steve says, even though Sam and Nat approving of Bucky makes him feel all warm inside.

“We all know you’re a huge softie Steve, however much you deny it,” Natasha smirks, and Sam and Bucky nod in agreement.

“This is ridiculous,” Steve sighs. He points a finger at Bucky. “You’re supposed to be on my side, you jerk.”

Bucky grins and shrugs. “Teasing you is way too much fun, I’m with your friends on this.”

“Drinks this Saturday?” Sam suggests. “I have a feeling Nat’s not done grilling you, Bucky.”

“Damn straight,” Natasha says, but there’s no real malice behind her words.

“Bring it on,” Bucky chuckles. “I’ll get my resume ready.”

Sam and Natasha laugh and head out, promising Bucky they’ll see him on the weekend. “Why do I feel like you all are going to tease me all night?” Steve sighs to Bucky once they’re gone.

“Cause that’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Bucky grins, tucking some hair behind Steve’s ear.

Students start arriving not too much later and Bucky heads to his seat. Steve greets each of the veterans individually, realizing how much he’s going to miss them. Once everyone’s arrived he claps his hands and moves to the front of the room.

“Wow, I can’t believe how quickly time flies. It seems like just yesterday was the first class day and here we are at the end. I want to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed leading this class, and you all have truly been a fantastic group of students. I’ve loved getting to know each of you and I’ve even made a few new friends.” He shoots a quick smile to Bucky, who winks back at him.

“So as I mentioned last week, today is really a day for you all to do a final piece that can kind of act as a summation of everything you’ve learned in this class. You’re free to use whatever materials you like best and to choose any subject that feels meaningful to you. I’ll be giving you all privacy since I know this can be very personal, but if any of you would like to show me your pieces when you finish, I’d love to see it of course.

“I hope that this class has been therapeutic for you and that you’ve been able to get a little more comfortable doing art. I’ve seen each and every one of you progress, and I’m so proud of you. Now, get started before I start getting all teary-eyed,” he chuckles and the class laughs.

Steve spends the class period seated at his desk, sketching a little but mostly just watching the students. He really does have a special place in his heart for each of the veterans. Everyone’s concentrating on their pieces but the atmosphere in the room is relaxed, and there’s some friendly chatter filling the silence. Bucky seems completely absorbed in whatever he’s working on. He’s using pastels on paper but Steve has no idea what he’s drawing, wanting to respect Bucky’s privacy. Every now and then Bucky will glance up at him with frown of concentration, like he’s analyzing Steve for some reason.

Class ends far too soon, and Steve does end up brushing away a few happy tears as each of the veterans approach him and show him the various pieces they have created. The art ranges from everything from paintings to drawings, abstract to landscapes to portraits. Every piece is unique and reflective of the personality of the artist, and once again Steve’s heart fills with pride at how far the students have come.

Bucky stays behind, still working until the last student leaves. When he finishes he leans back and stares at his work for a long moment, such that Steve is dying to see what he’s drawn. Eventually Bucky stands and makes his way up front, clutching the paper to his chest. The look on his face is serious, still echoing of concentration.

“Can I see it?” Steve asks tentatively and Bucky nods, handing the piece over. Steve lays it down on his desk and stands back to take it in.

His jaw drops when he sees it. Bucky’s done a portrait of Steve, but it’s not just any regular drawing. It’s bursting with color, Bucky had used pastels ranging from yellow to blue to pink to create a beautiful combination of hues that somehow blend together perfectly. But it’s not just his use of color that is striking, it’s that the portrait is close, intimate. Steve can see where Bucky spent time highlighting the rise of his cheekbones, the slight smile curving his lips. It’s detailed but soft at the same time, tender. It’s as though Bucky had spent hours observing Steve and put it all into this one drawing. He’s immediately reminded of the drawing he did of Bucky those few weeks ago, how he had sought to capture not only what Bucky looked like, but also what he _felt_  like. Steve is breathtaken.

“Bucky, this is incredible,” he says, still gazing at the drawing in awe.

Bucky’s silent for a long moment and Steve glances up at him, curious. Bucky's staring at him intently.

“Steve, I’m in love with you,” he says, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath.

“I realized as soon as I started drawing this,” Bucky continues, stepping closer to Steve. “I realized when I was coloring the blue of your eyes, when I was drawing that little crease between your eyebrows. You’re beautiful, but I already knew that. It’s more than that, I’m in love with you Steve, I’ve been in love with you since I met you, and I don’t know why it took me so long to say it.”

Steve’s still breathless. “Bucky, I, I’m not, you can’t—” he stutters. “I snore,” he blurts out, nonsensically.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I know.”

“And I’m sick all the time,” Steve adds, somewhat frantically. His head is reeling and his heart is pounding like a jackhammer.

Bucky takes a step closer, not taking his eyes off him. “And I’m great at making soup.”

“I can’t drive.”

“And I can.” Bucky replies, edging even closer. Steve’s backed up against the wall, and Bucky stands in front of him, his gaze focused, questioning.

“I…I’m a terrible cook.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I know, Steve,” Bucky sighs exasperatedly and he drags Steve in for a hard, long kiss. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Nothing is going to change that, you dumb punk,” he murmurs, tracing Steve’s lips with his thumb.

“You’re in love with me,” Steve whispers back dazedly, his brain still struggling to process the words. Bucky nods, leaning in for another kiss, this one slow. He presses against Steve, cupping his jaw firmly and bringing in his waist with his other hand until their bodies are flush together. Steve feels like he’s soaring, like the only thing keeping him on the ground is the weight of Bucky’s chest against his. But then his brain finally catches up to his body and he jerks back, grabbing Bucky’s face with both hands and forcing him to meet his gaze. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?” Bucky says, confused at Steve’s suddenness.

“I love you too,” Steve whispers.

Bucky breaks into in earsplitting grin and pulls Steve back against him, and Steve buries his head in Bucky’s shoulder. He can feel Bucky’s heartbeat pulsing against his own and the warmth of Bucky’s body enveloping him.

Bucky loves him and he loves Bucky. He’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ


	10. Epilogue

“Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying.”

“You’ve practically got a death grip on your pencil.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be driving?”

“Have I crashed the car yet?”

Steve sighs deeply. “You’re so annoying. I can’t stand you.”

Bucky grins knowingly over at him. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Steve rolls his eyes but allows Bucky to intertwine their fingers together with his hand that’s not on the wheel. A comfortable silence falls between them, and the slow, soothing motion of Bucky’s thumb helps the tension drain out of Steve. He is pretty wound up, and of course Bucky would notice, because Bucky notices everything about him.

“What if they don’t like me though?” Steve asks, and he’s not being sarcastic this time.

Bucky pulls his eyes off the road to send him a stern look. “Steve, there’s literally no universe in which they’re not going to like you.”

“I’ve never met the family of anyone I’ve dated,” Steve says, feeling the anxiety clench in his chest again. If Bucky’s family doesn’t like him, not only will he be devastated, that could be the end of their four-month relationship. Bucky’s so close with his family and Steve already feels like there’s no way he’s going to fit into all that. He’d even had a nightmare last night about Bucky’s father throwing him out into the snow. Which may have been slightly overdramatic, but suffice to say, he’s _terrified_.

Bucky sighs and squeezes his hand. “I need you to relax, Stevie. You’re getting yourself all worked up again. I promise that it’s going to be ok, alright? I wouldn’t bring you if it wasn’t.”

Steve nods absently, still not quite believing him. But then Bucky kisses his palm and turns on the radio and that Rhianna song they both love but can’t sing comes on. Bucky starts singing all the high notes absurdly off-key just to make Steve laugh, and Steve punches his shoulder and tells him he’s awful, but he’s grinning all the same, the vice on his chest loosening.

The rest of the drive from the airport to Bucky’s parent’s house in Queens goes smoothly and Steve nods off at some point. He wakes up to Bucky kissing his forehead and murmuring “We’re here, baby.”

The rental car is parked in front of a two-story white colonial with black shutters. There’s a thick coating of snow on the lawn and icicle Christmas lights are wrapped along the roof. The house looks lived-in and cozy even from the outside, and Steve can immediately picture Bucky growing up here, making snowmen in the front yard and riding his bike down the quiet street.

Bucky presses his lips against Steve’s, holding his jaw to pull him in closer, and Steve’s stomach swoops in that way it always does when Bucky kisses him, even though it’s not a new thing anymore. “I love you,” Bucky says, his eyes serious. “More than anything. Are you gonna be ok?”

Steve closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he nods. “I love you too.”

Bucky smiles gently and they get out of the car, hands interlaced as they crunch through the snow to the front door. Steve hasn’t been back to New York since he lost his Ma and it feels strange to be back, even if they’re in Queens not Brooklyn.

But before he can get too caught up in his thoughts, the front door swings open and a short, motherly-looking woman tackles Bucky in a hug.

“Oh James! I’ve missed you so much, dear. Seattle is much too far away, I think. Oh my goodness, come in, it’s freezing out here,” she gushes, ushering the both of them inside. “You must be Steve,” she says, turning to him. She’s got the exact same clear blue eyes as Bucky and her smile is so warm and welcoming that what remains of Steve’s anxiety drains away.

“Yes ma’am,” he says seriously, extending his hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Barnes.”

But Bucky’s mom just laughs and pulls him in for a tight hug. “Oh my goodness, aren’t you the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen! Call me Winfred, dear.” She pulls back to look him over. “Is Bucky treating you right? You’re so skinny, darling, Bucky are you making sure he eats?”

Steve blushes deeply, because he’s pretty sure _he’s_  supposed to be the one being grilled if he’s treating Bucky right. But Bucky just rolls his eyes and pulls Steve to his side. “Yes, mom,” he says good-naturedly. “Now give him a minute to breathe, alright?”

“Of course, come sit down, dears. Where’s your father?” She fusses, leading them into the living room, which is decorated in a cozy mix of yellow and cream colors. “Arthur!” she calls up the stairs. “James and Steve are here! Come say hello and get their bags from the car.”

A tall, friendly looking man with chestnut brown hair trundles down the stairs. “Your mom, always ordering me around,” he complains, but he’s beaming. He pulls Bucky into a hug immediately. “So good to see you, James,” he says, pulling back to look him over. “You’re looking good.”

“I am,” Bucky nods and pulls Steve closer against his side. “Dad, this is Steve.”

Steve sticks out his hand again but Bucky’s dad gives him the same smile as Winfred and hugs him. “No handshakes in this house,” he chastises. “It’s good to meet you, Steve. Call me Arthur. We’ve heard so much about you, this one won’t stop talking about you.”

Bucky’s cheeks turn slightly red. “Alright, dad, don’t embarrass me. Where’s Becca?”

“She’s driving up from Boston, should be here in an hour or so,” Winfred explains, returning to the living room from the kitchen and holding two cups of tea. “Now, relax a little and warm up. How was the flight?”

Steve accepts the cup of tea with a thanks and they all settle onto the couches, Bucky with his arm wrapped securely around Steve. Bucky recounts the details of their travels and Steve lets himself take in the surroundings. There’s a fire crackling in the fireplace across from them and a tall Christmas tree laden with mismatching ornaments in the corner. Everything about the house conveys warmth and coziness, as do Bucky’s parents.

  
Winfred asks Bucky a variety of typical motherly questions, about how he’s been doing with therapy and his apartment and whether he’s keeping dry enough in all the rain. Arthur is more quiet but he’s smiling faintly, relaxing against the couch with an arm lightly draped around Winfred. Steve can already tell that they’re happy together, and it’s all so overwhelming, how much of a _family_  they clearly are. But luckily Bucky does the talking for him, so Steve just sits quietly and absorbs it all.

Becca bursts through the door not too much later, jumping into Bucky’s arms with an ecstatic hug, both of them laughing heartily. She’s a whirlwind of energy and rapid-fire questions but she seems to like Steve right off the bat, gushing over Bucky finally having a boyfriend until Bucky’s red to the tips of his ears. Steve kisses his cheek because he’s adorable, and that makes Winfred and Becca coo at them in unison

Winfred heads back to the kitchen to work on dinner and Bucky takes Steve on a tour of the house. They spend the longest in Bucky’s bedroom, Steve taking his time wandering around and running his fingers over the posters from Bucky’s childhood that are still tacked on the wall. There’s several football trophies lined up on the bookshelf and Steve examines them curiously.

“You never told me you played football,” he says, surprised. “Have you been keeping secrets from me, Bucky Barnes?”

“I was quarterback,” Bucky admits sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to think I was that annoying football player with a varsity jacket and cheerleader girlfriend.”

Steve snorts. “Couldn’t have worked out too well with the cheerleader.”

“Hmm,” Bucky muses, and corners Steve against the wall, bracketing him there with his arms. “Yeah, I might be a little gay,” he grins, and leans in for a deep kiss. He moves his lips to Steve’s neck, brushing feather light kisses along the length of it. “I think I have a crush on this gorgeous guy with blonde hair,” he murmurs, voice heady, and trails his fingers under Steve’s shirt and up his back in the way he knows makes Steve shiver every time.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, eyes fluttering shut. “Your family’s downstairs.”

“I know,” Bucky says, sucking wetly at the sensitive spot behind Steve’s ear. “But we’re up here.”

Bucky picks him up, kicking the door shut with his foot and walking backward until they both tumble onto his bed. Bucky climbs on top to hover over him. Steve gazes up at him, running a hand through Bucky’s hair that’s hanging loosely in his face. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

“Nothing compared to you, pal,” Bucky says, and leans down to press their mouths together, his lips slick against Steve’s. He pushes his tongue between Steve’s lips when he parts them, and Steve gets lost in the taste of Bucky’s mouth, warm and wet. He rucks up Bucky’s shirt to run his hands along his back, tracing the thick muscles with his fingers. Bucky groans a little and starts sucking hotly at Steve’s collarbone. Steve savors all the sensations—the featherlike feel of Bucky’s hair on his chest, the slick press of Bucky’s lips against his collarbones, the rippling of Bucky’s muscles as he holds himself up over Steve.

Steve doesn’t know how long they spend like that, Bucky pressed up against his chest, their legs intertwined and their mouths moving hotly against each other. Their hands roam over each other but neither of them go below the belt, in unspoken agreement that the middle of the day with Bucky’s parents downstairs is not the right time to get in each other’s pants, however much they love doing it.

“Boys!” Winfred calls up the stairs some time later. Bucky and Steve have traded making out for lying on the bed facing each other, Bucky thumbing through Steve’s hair delicately and both of them gazing in each other’s eyes like the dumb lovestruck couple they are. “Dinner’s ready.”

Bucky kisses his forehead and they both get up to pull on their t-shirts that they mysteriously lost at some point while making out. After a quick glance in the mirror to make sure they both look presentable, they head downstairs hand in hand. Becca gives them a knowing wink, which makes Steve blush and Bucky roll his eyes, but no one else says anything about their extended absence.

“Now, almost everything is vegan, dear,” Winfred explains as they all sit down at the mahogany dinner table. “Except the ham of course, but that’s a tradition. I hope it’s alright to have it on the table? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Steve rushes to say. “You shouldn’t have gone to any trouble. I told Bucky not to say anything.” He frowns at Bucky but Bucky just shrugs.

“Wasn’t going to let you starve, Steve, of course I told her you’re vegan.”

“Oh it wasn’t any trouble, honey,” Winfred assures, patting Steve’s hand. “I enjoyed tweaking the recipes, actually. “I’m certainly not going to let James’ boyfriend go hungry in my house.”

Steve’s so overwhelmed with emotion that he can’t formulate a response. He hadn’t expected to have anyone to have Christmas Eve dinner with at all, let alone spend it with a boyfriend who loves him and said boyfriend’s mom cooking him a full vegan meal. Bucky seems to understand how Steve’s feeling, because he squeezes his knee under the table, and announces, “Let’s dig in, this looks amazing, mom.”

They all pass the dishes around and Steve piles his plate high with mashed potatoes, cornbread, green beans, and a bowl of chili. The food is flavorful and comforting, and Steve savors every bite.

“So, James tells us you’re an artist,” Arthur says across the table to Steve, taking a sip of champagne. “That’s really neat.”

“Oh, well, I’m not that great,” Steve says sheepishly. “I like to draw, mostly.”

“He’s amazing,” Bucky counters, smiling warmly at Steve. “You should see some of his work.”

“I’d like that,” Bucky’s dad nods. “Whenever you feel like it, of course Steve.”

Steve’s touched at him taking an interest in his artwork. “I can show you my sketchbook after dinner,” he says, and Bucky squeezes his knee again, knowing how personal that is to Steve.

“I can’t believe you guys met in Steve’s art class,” Becca chimes in. “That’s like, straight out of a romance movie.”

“It is quite an adorable story,” Winfred agrees. “I still remember how excited Bucky was about you when he called me after that first class.”

Steve turns to Bucky, who looks thoroughly embarrassed. “You told her about me?” he exclaims.

“Oh, he was over the moon about you,” Winfred assures, and Bucky sinks further into his seat, flushing deeply. “He went on and on about how cute you are. Which you are, of course, dear.”

“But I thought you hated me!” Steve exclaims, shocked. “You barely even talked to me.”

“Bucky’s bad at talking to his crushes,” Becca explains. “Remember that fiasco in high school? Oh man, that was hilarious,” she grins.

Bucky, who’s as red with embarrassment as Steve’s ever seen, holds up his hands. “Alright, enough of this. What are you gonna do, pull out the baby pictures next?” He groans, but he turns to give Steve a gentle peck on the cheek. “I was over the moon about you, by the way.”

It’s Steve’s turn to blush. The conversation turns to Becca and how her teaching job in Boston is going, her animatedly telling stories about her third graders that make them all guffaw with laughter. They eat until they’re stuffed, praising Winfred’s cooking, which makes her smile happily. After dessert of cherry pie and pound cake, they all bring the dishes into the kitchen and Arthur rolls up his sleeves to start washing the dishes. Steve insists he can help but Arthur shoos him and the rest of Bucky’s family to the living room, claiming his duty is to wash the dishes since he didn’t cook.

Bucky puts a new log on the fire and they all sink into the couch cushions, Steve and Bucky cuddling up to each other.

Winfred sighs happily at the sight of them. “Oh James, I’m so happy you found someone. Steve, you’re an absolute delight.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, touched. “I’m lucky to have Bucky. You raised a good son.”

“I know,” Winfred beams proudly at Bucky. “You too, Becca honey. I’m so proud of you two.”

“Thank mom,” Becca smiles gently, squeezing her mom’s arm. “We make a good family.”

“We do. And I’m so happy you can be a part of it, Steve” Winfred smiles over at him, her eyes a little watery.

Steve suddenly feels like all the air’s been knocked out of him. “Thank you,” he answers, willing his voice to sound normal. Winfred doesn’t seem to notice anything, just smiles at him and wipes away a quick tear before turning to ask Becca if she’s found anyone special yet.

But Bucky must notice him tense up because he turns to frown at him and rubs his hand on his back. “Everything ok?” he asks, quietly enough that his mom and sister won’t hear.

“Yeah,” Steve nods quickly. “I just, um, have to go the bathroom.” He slips out of the room and nearly bolts up the stairs. He goes to Bucky’s room and sits down heavily on the bed. He doesn’t even know what’s wrong, everything had been fine, but now his throat is tight and he feels like he can’t breathe.

He bites his lip, hard, trying to get a hold of himself. He tries and fails to choke back a muffled sob and tears start running down his face. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, willing himself to stop crying. Why is he ruining something so good, so perfect?

“Hey, hey,” comes Bucky’s soft voice and he’s walking through the doorway, frowning worriedly at Steve. He immediately pulls Steve against his chest and starts rubbing circles against his back. “Shh, it’s ok. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Steve can’t answer, just shakes his head and buries his face deep into Bucky’s neck, crying silently. He knows he’s acting crazy and he’s getting Bucky’s shirt all wet, but Bucky just holds him against him so hard that he couldn’t pull away if he tried. Bucky presses kisses to Steve’s hair and murmurs soothing noises, still rubbing his back. He doesn’t force Steve to talk, just holds him until his sobs are more like hiccups.

Bucky pulls back and thumbs tears off his cheeks, frowning deeply. His face is so full of concern that Steve almost starts crying all over again because he feels so bad for worrying Bucky like this. But Bucky kisses Steve’s forehead and hands him a tissue, and rubs his back while he blows his nose.

Once Steve’s a little more cleaned up and has his breathing under control, Bucky tilts his head up gently with a finger. “Is it too much?” Bucky asks, assessing him with his gaze. “We can leave it’s too much, Stevie. They’ll understand.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t do that to them. They’re so happy you’re here.”

“My first priority is you,” Bucky reprimands gently. “I don’t want anything getting you so upset like this.”

“No we don’t need to leave,” Steve says. “It’s not that. It’s just, when your mom said I was part of the family, I…I’ve never had this, Bucky. I’ve never had the Christmas dinner with all the food and a father who brings in your suitcase from the car and the fireplace and…I just, I don’t know how I fit into all this. I don’t deserve this.”

“Steve, you absolutely deserve this.” Bucky says firmly, not taking his eyes off him. “You deserve all of this, and more.”

Steve looks away, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t though. I’m so afraid I’m going to mess it up. Like, I’ll blink and all of this will be gone.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever,” Bucky replies, forcing him to meet his gaze again. “Neither is my family. I love you and so do they, and you’re a part of this. You have a family now, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes well up at that and Bucky pulls him back against his chest, smoothing down his hair. “It’s ok,” he sighs quietly, kissing the top of his head. “You have a family now.”

++

On Christmas day Bucky wakes him up early with a cup of coffee and a kiss, and the five of them gather around the tree all still in their pajamas. They open presents together and Steve hugs Winfred for a long time when he opens the reindeer sweater she knitted him. Bucky handles making breakfast since he’s the only one who can cook tofu scramble, and Steve joins him in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck until Bucky complains that he’s too distracting. It snows that evening, and he, Bucky and Becca have a vicious snowball fight in the front yard. Afterward they warm up with hot chocolate around the fireplace, Bucky and Becca telling Steve some of their more outrageous childhood tales.

They stay a week, most of their time spent relaxing around the house. But one day Bucky takes Steve out on a drive and shows him all his old favorite spots around the neighborhood. They swing on the swings at the little park Bucky and Becca used to play at, and by the time they jump off they’re both out of breath and giddy. Bucky’s cheeks are pink with cold and Steve kisses him so hard that they both tumble back in the snow, laughing. There are snowflakes in Bucky’s hair and his eyes are the same beautiful blue gray of the sky and Steve kisses him until both of their lips are cherry red.

Bucky also introduces Steve to a couple of his old football buddies, and they all get drinks one night at the dingy neighborhood bar. If Bucky was ever uncomfortable with his sexuality around them, he doesn’t show it, just keeps an arm wrapped around Steve the whole time like he always does. Despite looking like total bros, both of the guys tell them they’re an adorable couple and give Bucky an appreciative fist pound.

They spend the evenings holed up together in Bucky’s bedroom, sometimes making love slowly and quietly after everyone’s gone to sleep, sometimes watching movies on Bucky’s laptop until they fall asleep on each other. Mornings are easy and relaxed too, Bucky curling around Steve with Steve’s head pillowed on his chest as they both wake up slow and warm.

The week passes much too quickly, and before Steve knows it they’re packing their rental car back up and Winfred is pushing a paper bag of snacks for the flight into his hands. They all hug out on the front porch, Steve feeling so wonderfully at home among them, in contrast to a week ago. Arthur pats his back and Winfred kisses his cheek and makes him promise to eat and Becca gives him her phone number. They take their time saying goodbye to Bucky as well, clearly sad at his departure.

As Bucky pulls the car away from the house, Steve wipes away a tear as he watches the three of them waving wildly at them from the front porch.

“Drive safe!” Arthur calls out before they disappear around the corner, and Steve’s heart clenches.

Then it’s quiet save the crunch of salt under the car tires and Steve takes his time looking at Bucky in profile, before he stretches across the seat to press his lips to Bucky’s cheek.

“What was that for?” Bucky asks, turning to smile warmly at him before looking back at the road.

Steve takes Bucky’s free hand and twines their fingers together, squeezing gently. “For being my family.”

++

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I can't believe it's over!! Oh my goodness this has been such a labor of love for me and I never thought I'd be able to write a 43k fic. But I blame these two idiots in love and I had soo much fun writing this and reading all of your comments. Thank you to each and every person who left kudos or commented on my fic, it means so much ♡
> 
> If you're interested in reading more of my writing, I will be starting a series with my kidfic au that will mostly just be fluff and happy adorable Stucky with a kid. So if that's your sort of thing stay tuned. I also write drabbles on my tumblr [ here ](http://www.notwithouttyou.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.


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